Terraria Chronicles
by TetraMidna68
Summary: I have a new land to explore, but this time I haven't been thrown into the deep end. This time I'm an experienced miner and swordsman, and I'm already the Hero of Terraria. This is a chance to start again. But the Guide had to come along too, didn't he?
1. The New Land

**Part I: Sunflower**

I awoke to see a sunflower towering above me.

A sunflower? I hadn't seen a sunflower in years . . . I'd used them all to stop the corruption from spreading – before the Dryad and her purification powder appeared and made life much easier for me.

It occurred to me that unless the sunflower was magnificently tall, I was on the ground. I had fallen asleep on a patch of grass. In front of a sunflower.

So had the sunflower grown overnight?

No.

So where had it come from? Realisation started seeping into my thick skull.

Or where was I?

In an attempt to move I realised that my entire body was aching. Not in pain, but as if I had been mining for days on end.

I almost wished that I had been.

Those long days and nights I would spend hammering away at the stone walls of a cavern, trying to find ore or gemstones . . .

But those days were over.

It had been months since I had gone underground.

There was nothing left to find.

Forcing my mind away from my melancholy, I sat upright and let out a groan of pain as I did so. I blink, trying to bring the world into focus, and see a figure laying in the grass a few metres away from me. The figure let out a gasp of pain and sits up, revealing a wild shock of brown hair and an achingly familiar face.

"Guide?" I mumbled, trying to make sense out of this situation. "What are you doing here?"

"Where exactly _is_ here?" he mumbled back in a rare display of ignorance. We look at our surroundings and raised our eyebrows simultaneously.

We had never been there before.

_I _had never been there before.

Which didn't make sense.

I've been everywhere in Terraria.

There was nowhere left to explore.

Hence the last two years.

We're in a valley of some sort, surrounded by high hills the size of mountains.

I've scaled mountains before.

But even on my standards, those mountains were HIGH.

Almost _too_ high.

Nothing had ever been too high before. Those couldn't be.

We were also surrounded by trees. Not enough to obscure the view of our surrounds, but still a great deal of them.

My mind immediately turned from the trees to my axe, and I let out a gasp of shock.

"Where's my axe?!" I cried suddenly, panicking. I haven't let my axe, pickaxe, sword or any other important items out of my sight ever since I forged them, even after I stopped needing them. But, for the first time, the familiar weight of my weapons on my back and around my waist was gone. "Guide! Where's my axe?!"

"It's alright! Stop panicking!" he said, walking towards me. "It's not here, but you can always make another one."

"Out of what?!" I cried back, on the verge of tears. "I need an axe to chop down trees! How am I supposed to make an axe without one?!"

"Just calm down," the Guide replied calmly to my outburst. "It'll be alright. What do you have in your pouch?"

Fighting down my murderous instincts, I reached into the seemingly small pouch that held all of my things in it, and found it almost empty.

There was nothing in it. Nothing.

Things that I needed to _survive _had disappeared.

I reached deeper into the pouch until my entire arm was feeling around in it, hoping to find _something_.

And I did.

I drew it out of the pouch and found that I had two things that I didn't need back then.

A healing potion. And an acorn.

"Great!" I cried, holding the bottle so tensely that it almost broke. "No boomerang, no sword, no protection, no building materials, just a potion! And an acorn! In a forest!"

"Better than nothing," the Guide said with a smile. "Be optimistic. You're such a pessimist, Zelda68."

"And who can blame me?" I shouted, hoping to wipe the smile off his face and make him see reality for once. "We're stuck here! No food, no water, no weapons, no shelter, no pickaxe, surrounded by trees we can't even cut down!"

His grin turned into the smirk that I hated so much and he crossed his arms.

"Wrong! We are not stuck here. Even the tallest of mountains can be climbed; you're the one who taught me that. We can make a shelter. Trees drop branches, remember? No need to be so destructive! Just walk around and pick them up. And there's bound to be a stream here somewhere, or how do you explain Mr Fluffy over there?" he remarked, indicating towards a rabbit running through the trees.

"But rabbits eat grass," I pointed out, slightly calmer. "We still don't have any food, and the human body can only last on water for six weeks, _you're_ the one who told _me_ that."

"We can find food. There might be fish in the stream or river or whatever it is."

"And if there isn't?"

". . . Then, I admit, we _may_ have to resort to mushroom soup."

"No!" I cried. For my first six months in Terraria, I had eaten nothing but mushroom soup. After that, I swore never to do it again. "Not mushroom soup! Anything but mushroom soup!"

"Why do you hate it so much?" he asked with a frown. "It's not_ that_ bad."

"Guide," I replied, my face stony, "I have eaten raw zombie to avoid it. Don't tell me after that I have to eat it now."

"Raw zombie?" he asked, looking disgusted. "You mean human flesh? _Dead _human flesh?"

"I had to. I was stuck in the jungle caverns."

"And you had mushrooms with you at the time?"

"Well, no, but the thought that it wasn't mushroom soup kept me eating it." I explained.

The Guide looked like he was going to be sick, but I ignored him and started walking away. "If this stream of yours actually exists, I'm going to find it. You look for branches."

I heard him mumble something about how women are supposed to be the fairer sex but for once he didn't end up at the tip of my sword for it. I didn't have a sword. But I did slap him.

"That womanly enough for you?" I asked. "Better than a punch?" I cut him off before he can interrupt with one of his usual cocky remarks. "I didn't save Terraria from the corruption by being womanly, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it!" He called after me as I started walking away. "But hey, you should be happy! You've wanted somewhere new to explore for the last two years!"

I stopped in my tracks and realised that he was right. I have a whole new land to explore, but this time I haven't been thrown into the deep end. This time I'm an experienced miner and swordsman, and I'm already the Hero of Terraria.

This is a chance to start again.

I sighed.

But the Guide had to come along too, didn't he?


	2. Flashbacks

It took me two hours of trekking through the bush, leaving marks on the trees to help me find the way back, to find the stream.

And it was more than a stream. It was a large freshwater pond, full of life. Frogs sitting around it, birds and other strange animals drinking from it and many fish swimming in it. Of course, before this, I had only ever seen stereotypical fish in resemblance to goldfish and the many variates in the pond startled me. More than that, I felt a great relief. No more mushroom soup for me!

I immediately created a makeshift fishing rod out of a stick, some loose thread from the bottom of my pouch and a worm tooth lying on the ground. I had already caught a good five fish before something occurred to me.

A worm tooth?

On the ground?

The only way to get a worm tooth is to kill a Devourer or an Eater of Worlds. And you can only find them in the corruption.

So was there corruption nearby?

I thought I had rid the world of the corruption, but then again, if I haven't been here before, then is the world is bigger than just the land of Terraria?

Hmph. _Just_ the land of Terraria.

But even if there was corruption nearby, someone else must have gone there, fought a devourer and claimed it's teeth? But even then, why would they just leave their prize here?

This new place was starting to give me the creeps.

How could I be sure that the corruption wasn't just going to creep over the top of the mountains any minute now, bringing Eater of Souls with it?

Banishing these thoughts from my mind, I began to head back and greeted the Guide with a pouch stuffed with fish and bottles full of water. He greeted me equally triumphantly with a pile of thick branches.

"Better start building, then." I say with a grin. "I've missed it, you know. I've built everything that I needed to build and more, but I've been so bored without having to do it."

"Fair enough," he replied. All of a sudden his expression turned from understanding to horrified. "Zelda68! My books! They're in my house! What am I going to do without my books?"

"Relax, Guide, relax!" I said, grinning. "You know them all off by heart, anyway."

"Yeah, but there were some really good survival tips in there!"

"Hang on, you have a pouch too. Could they be in there?" The Guide immediately started fishing around inside it. He brought out a rope and chucked it onto the ground like it was useless, and frowned at me.

"Why aren't you worried about them? You risked life and limb to get them from that dungeon."

"True," I replied, remembering my surprise at finding such trivial items in such a dangerous place and immediately thinking of the Guide, "But I risked my life every day back then. Besides, the Water Bolt spellbook was the only one I cared about, and you needed a bigger vocabulary."

He finally drew out a large volume titled "How to survive in Terraria without a Gun, written by the Arms Dealer". He let out a sigh of relief and I frowned.

"Hang on, I never noticed that," I remarked. "The Arms Dealer wrote a book?"

"Yep," replied the Guide with a smile, clutching the book tightly. "I'm a fan of his now."

"But you live in the same building as him." I remarked. "And you know that he's . . . not a very nice person."

"Doesn't mean he isn't a good author."

We started building, chatting in a rare moment of calm between us. Almost immediately however, our conversation turned to how it was that we got here.

"What was the last thing you remember?" the Guide asked. I closed my eyes, trying to think.

"I remember . . ." my voice trailed off as I tried to concentrate.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and played with the idea of digging for ore, but scrapped it soon after. I greeted everyone and asked the Nurse to have a look at a scar that had been troubling me.

The Nurse . . . I remember her giving me some ointment and saying that I'd be fine in a few days. I wish she was here now . . .

I remember muffled explosions and the occasional curse coming from the Demolitionist's room, followed up by him asking the Nurse to sew one of his legs back on. Again.

The Demolitionist . . . he was always losing limbs to his work, but he was so tough about it . . . I wish he was here to help with the building . . .

I remember the Dryad, in a rare moment of rage, telling the Merchant to stop pestering her.

The Dryad . . . with her long braid of green hair woven through with flowers, she was always so calm and peaceful . . . I could do with some of her wisdom now . . .

I remember the Merchant, upon asking him what he was trying to sell her, remarking that angel statues _did_ do something and that he just didn't know what yet. And I remember remembering that he had claimed, upon my asking him about angel statues, that he did not deal in rubbish . . .

The Merchant . . . even though he was enough of a bastard to charge 8 gold coins for a mining helmet, I miss him too . . .

I remember the Arms Dealer coming out of his room with a bouquet of flowers, and upon seeing me trying to hide them behind his back.

"The Nurse?" I asked. "Or the Dryad?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly blushing. "I don't know what you're talking about!" But as he passed me I heard him mumble "The Dryad is such a prude . . ."

The Arms Dealer . . . he was always so manly and tough when you met him in his shop, but whenever the Nurse was around he would stammer and blush. He just wasn't man enough to ask her out. The man who had stood his ground against an Eater of Souls just wasn't man enough . . .

And I remember the Clothier asking me, once again, if I could supply him with some dye. He obviously didn't understand just where it was jungle grass seeds, the main ingredient of green dye, came from. The jungle.

The Clothier . . . even though the first time I met him he turned into a giant skeleton and tried to kill me, I wish he was here . . .

"Hey!" the Guide said, calling me back to reality. "I'm doing all the work here!"

"Sorry," I call back. "Just a minute."

The Guide . . . where had the Guide been that day?

I remember getting bored and starting on a long trek to the shore.

To the beach.

To the end of the world.

I spent many days there in the last two years, trying to make sense of things.

It was the end of the world. It had to be. The water went on forever.

But some gut instinct inside me told me that there had to be more. Every now and then I thought I saw the sail of a boat in the distance, or the shore of a faraway island.

I had been there for a few hours, lost in my own thoughts, when the Guide had tuned up behind me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Is this where you've been going every day?" he asked, avoiding my question. "To the end of the world?"

"Is it though?"

"Is it what?" he asked with a frown.

"The end of the world." I answered, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "There must be more than this. Is there? Do you think?"

He paused for a moment. "It's possible," he admitted. "You never know."

"If there is more, why can't we go there?"

". . . maybe we just aren't meant to." he suggested. We were born in Terraria, and maybe that's where we should stay."

"But if there is more out there, why is it hiding from us? What's to stop whoever lives there from just building a bridge and going here?"

"What's stopping you?" he had asked with a smile. "Right now, you could just swim out there and find whatever secrets are being hidden from you. You could find a new land. You could be Zelda68, Saviour of Terraria and of the Entire World from the Corruption!"

I paused. "I think, for the moment at least, I'm happy just being Zelda68."

"But being Zelda68 means being a hero." he responded.

I stood up and stared out to the horizon. "Maybe . . . I'll start tomorrow. Build a bridge to the new world."

"If you do, can I come?"

I stared at him and smiled. "Guide, you know how much I hate you, but at the moment I love you more than anything in the world."

"Hey," he responded with a smirk. "Fair enough. I am pretty handsome."

"Shut up!" I laughed, punching him playfully in the shoulder.

We stared out at the horizon for a few minutes, until he asked, "Do you want to head back now? I think you should. It's getting pretty cold."

"I'll stay for a bit," I replied.

He got up to leave, but I stopped him and said, "Tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow." he agreed. "I'll tell the others. We start building the bridge tomorrow."

Shortly after he left, I made a small shelter out of wood and fell asleep to the sound of the waves.

"Tomorrow . . . tomorrow is today now." I concluded, looking up at the Guide's puzzled face. "The bridge. The end of the world."

He thought for a moment and remembered.

"Yes! The Bridge! I told the others and then . . ." he paused for a moment. "And then I went to bed, and I woke up here."

"They must be wondering where we are . . ." I paused then sighed. "I never imagined it would be like this."

"What would be like what?" he asked.

I shook my head. "More of the world, but just with you. I always imagined that the Merchant, and the Nurse, and the Demolitionist, and the Clothier, and the Dryad and the Arms Dealer would be here with us. That . . . we'd build the bridge until we saw the shore and then swim the rest of the way. We'd find a brand new land with no corruption, no zombies, no nothing. A kind of paradise."

"Well, hey, who's to say there's corruption here?" he asked. "I haven't seen a slime all day, and they were everywhere in Terraria, even with the corruption gone!"

". . . that's true." I admitted. "But I found this."

I showed him the worm tooth and explained what it was. "Well . . ." he began, but couldn't finish. There was no explaining this.

"Actually, we'd better get moving!" I exclaimed, noticing that the sky was tinted pink. "Sundown soon! They might not have slimes here but god knows what they have to make up for it!"

The Guide gave a short laugh and we resumed our work.

4


	3. Beginnings

By the time the moon reached it's zenith, our makeshift shelter was complete. We promised ourselves that tomorrow we would spend the day making a proper house, complete with table and chairs.

The Guide grilled the fish over our fire and we had a good dinner. He knew the names of all the kinds of fish that I had caught, even though he had never seen them outside a book before.

We slept on the floor – no time to make a bed. But our discomfort had nothing to do with that. We tensed up and couldn't sleep because we had no idea what this new land had in store for us in terms of monsters. Were there zombies here? Demon eyes?

Something even worse?

Goblins every night?

We were used to defending ourselves at night, even after two years of peace.

We were still capable of putting up a fight at whatever would attack us, even without weapons.

We were still warriors.

The Guide wasn't very good at swordplay or mining or much else, but he was good at collecting food and was prepared for every possible situation and knew everything about everything. He was a walking dictionary. Or rather, thesaurus.

In fact, his understanding everything, although it made me hate him sometimes was what made us such good friends. He understood _me_, like no one else did.

"This is so uncomfortable . . ." moaned the Guide, snapping me back to reality.

I smirked. "Hey, you only slept in a bed for the last two years because of me."

"Three."

"What?"

"Three years. You built me a bed when Terraria was still in jeopardy."

I paused. "Yeah, I suppose I did . . . what did you do before then?"

He thought for a moment. "I think I just slept on the floor. I'd only been in Terraria for a year when you arrived." He seemed to lose himself in the memory and a question sprung to my mind.

"Where were you before then? Before you came to Terraria?"

". . . I didn't come here - no, not here, to Terraria." he paused. "I was born here. No – there. Sorry. I was born in Terraria . . ." he trailed off, leaving me to think.

"Was I?" I asked. "Born in Terraria? You were there before me, so where did I come from? I don't remember coming to Terraria, but you were there before me, so . . . was I born there?"

" . . . You were." he answered. "I found you . . . wandering around the hills with a pickaxe."

I paused. The Guide had always said that I was born with a pickaxe in my hand, but I never knew he meant it literally. "How old was I?"

"You were the same age as me. Fourteen. I took you back to my house and gave you some medicine, you were pretty sick."

" . . . I remember. You said that I should rest for a few days and then you would see if you could find a nurse. I had no idea what you were on about . . . then you gave me mushroom soup." I made a face. "It seemed much nicer then."

The Guide laughed. "You were barely concious. I'd been eating mushroom soup for my whole life, so I gave you some and then you couldn't stop eating it until you were sick. Seriously."

". . . and then . . . I spent the next few months recovering from the whole thing . . . and the next few getting to know and hate you . . ." The Guide smiled but didn't say anything. ". . . and teaching myself to use a sword."

"You had to. You were so insistent on going outside every day and night and I couldn't leave you to the zombies!"

". . . and how to mine." I smiled. "Back then I just had a wooden pickaxe. Now it's plated with gold."

"You were a natural born miner. And craftsman. Before you appeared I lived in a tiny dirt shelter, but you turned it into a proper wooden house, with flowers in pots and a furnace and . . . everything. But while you did all that . . . the corruption . . . started spreading."

". . . I watched the hills . . . corrupt. They changed colour and . . . died. And I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand just watching that happen and not do anything about it . . . so . . ."

"You didn't just let it happen." the Guide finished for me. "You stood up for nature and did something about it. You set up sunflowers around the house to stop it spreading there, and started digging a tunnel that lead to a shelter far away. I thought you were mad to think that one tunnel could go that far without collapsing. But you . . . every day you went down there and extended it. You made the house blood-moon-zombie-proof and would disappear down the tunnel for days on end with nothing but a bowl of mushroom soup and a pickaxe. You proved me wrong." he smiled. "No one had ever done that before. And I knew then . . . you were capable enough to help Terraria."

I could remember.

The first time I woke up.

I smiled but stayed quiet. Remembering this now brought back feelings and sensations I had not felt since then.

The cold . . .

The fear . . .

The hills that seemed to stretch forever . . . no matter how long you walked . . .

The only thing I knew for certain . . . the only thing I could trust in the fog . . .

Was my pickaxe.

It was mine.

And I would do great things with it.

That much hasn't changed.

But my pickaxe . . . where was it?

The pickaxe I had used, before I ended up here, the one that I had been given in the hills . . . I had never been away from it before . . .

"Were you just as smart the first time you woke up?" I asked absent-mindedly. "I was born to be a miner . . . were you born to the The Guide?"

He paused. "Yes. I think so." He turned to face me. "But you weren't just born to be a miner. The pickaxe . . . you were born to be a hero. That's what you are now. And I wasn't born to be The Guide . . . I was born to be your Guide. The Hero's Guide. The one who would help the Hero survive in Terraria . . ." his voice became less decisive and trailed off, leaving me to think. I frowned.

"But that's not fair," I said. "You're more than just my Guide. You're your own person."

"I'm not as important as you in the grand scheme of things, but hey, you wouldn't have survived here without me, would you?"

"No, that's still not fair!" I cried. "There's no such thing as 'less important'. You are you, not just my crutch. Remember that. You are your own person, and therefore just as important as me." I turned to face him. "Remember that."

He smiled. "I will."

3


	4. The Blood Moon and Sarita

I awoke the next morning surprised to find I had fallen asleep.

Equally surprised to find that The Guide had too.

And even more surprised to find that our makeshift door hadn't been beaten down, and that all of my limbs were still attached to my body.

I shook the Guide awake and headed for the door, half expecting a demon eye to fly out of nowhere and kill me, but for once, luck worked in my favour. There were no monsters outside, or inside, and everything was calm and peaceful. The only sign of movement was a rabbit running through the tall grass, startled at my sudden appearance.

The first thing I did was to start crafting a workbench. It would certainly be handy later on, and I needed one to make a proper pickaxe. My thoughts lingered on my old pickaxe, the one I had had all of my life. The one I used to save Terraria . . .

I could make another one. I could make it out of whatever I pleased with enough materials . . . but it wouldn't be the same.

"I will find it," I promised myself. "Even if I have to search all of the lands, however many there are, even if I have to face the Eye of Cthulhu a thousand times, I will find it."

"Your pickaxe?" The Guide asked from behind me, catching me off guard. "I'm sure you will. It is yours and always will be."

"But where is it?" I moaned, breaking my air of defiance. "It could be anywhere. God knows how we got here . . . for all we know, it could be back on the beach in Terraria. Or it could've landed on top of a zombie on a deserted island . . ."

"Don't worry," said the Guide. "You'll find it again."

"But this isn't again!" I cried. "I've never been away from it before! I'm a scavenger, I never leave anything behind. And thanks to this pouch, I never have to!"

"There's no need to . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought. "Hang on . . . did you keep worm teeth in your pouch?"

I paused to think. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

"Because the worm tooth that you found could've been yours! Maybe, somehow, all of the things in your pouch ended up scattered about the valley! Maybe if we just look around, we'll find your pickaxe and sword!"

"Maybe," I admitted, unable to repress a smile. "Just possibly . . . but if you're wrong, you have to reinforce the door against zombies!"

"Don't you want me to be right?" he asked, frowning.

"I didn't say that," I say with a smirk. "I just like it when you're wrong."

The Guide tried to repress a smile, but ultimately failed. He would always give in to my sarcastic humour, even if it was meant to degrade him.

After I finished off the workbench, we spent the rest of the day building a proper house out of wood. We also made a circular tank out of clay that spurted out of the floor to hold the fish in and lined the walls with torches.

And, most importantly, I made an axe.

Or pickaxe.

Or both.

It's basically a stick with a rock tied to it.

But still, better than nothing, right?

When the sun was about to set, we took the remaining wood inside and started making furniture. A good day's work.

It made me feel nostalgic . . . I kept finding myself smiling or thinking about the past, until the Guide would ask me what was funny.

Did he have to burst my bubble every time?

It was starting to get on my nerves.

By midnight we'd finished the table and chairs and were working on each of our bed frames. He was making himself a double bed, but mine was just single. Doubles were so much harder to make . . .

And I was so tired . . .

Hmph.

I had stayed awake for weeks on end when Terraria was in trouble.

I had to, if I wanted to survive in the corruption.

Eaters of Souls everywhere.

Two years of peacetime hadn't done me very well . . .

. . . Or maybe _too_ well . . .

"Hey!" the Guide called out. "Quit going all vague! It's starting to creep me out, you always used to stay up waaaay later than me!"

There he goes again! Bursting my bubble!

I bared my teeth into a snarl. "Well maybe I have a lot to think about!" I shouted. "Unlike you! Your brain is too stuffed with useless information to care about the present, isn't it?"

The Guide's face contorted in anger. "Well excuse _me_ for doing what I'm meant to do! I'm the Guide! I Guide! I might not be some big-shot hero, but you'd be dead if it weren't for me!" He stormed out of the house, leaving me staring at the open door in bewilderment.

What is wrong with him?

. . . what is wrong with _me_?

Why did I have to do that?

I'm so stupid!

Stupid stupid stupid!

The door closes by itself.

I hit myself in the head and sunk to the floor.

. . . so . . . stupid . . .

I am knocked out of my thoughts by a scream from outside and the sound of fists hammering on the door.

"ZELDA68! ZELDA68! LET ME IN! IT'S A BLOOD MOON OUT HERE!"

"WHAT?" I cry, rushing to the door. "GUIDE! HANG ON!" I open the door and the Guide rushes in, clutching a bleeding arm. I shut the door hurriedly behind him and he sinks to the floor, letting out a gasp of pain.

"Guide! Wha-" I am cut off as something strong and powerful bangs on the door from the outside. I quickly grab some spare wood and use it to jam the door shut, using all of my weight to hold the creature outside back.

"What is it out there?" I asked. "A bunch of zombies? Goblins? What?"

The Guide seemed unable to answer, so I took a closer look at his arm and immediately came to a conclusion.

"Bunnies," I said. "For god's sake . . . Mr. Fluffy's revenge . . . why did it have to be corrupted bunnies?"

"Bunnies?" the Guide asked, staring at me with wide eyes. "As in rabbits? Are you insane? They were knee height, purple, with pulsating veins and glowing red eyes! One of them latched onto my arm and . . . and . . ."

"Bit onto you, practically ripped your arms to shreds with it's back legs, and jumped off, aiming for your head, and you ran! That's happened to me too."

The Guide continued to stare at me, eyes uncomprehending. I sighed.

"That's what happen to bunnies during a Blood Moon. They change. Into what you just saw. They're pretty scary, and pretty hard to kill, but otherwise rubbish. They wander around, looking for prey, but can't smell you or anything. In fact, they've saved me from zombies once or twice . . . zombies can be pretty troublesome during a blood moon."

". . . all those times I attracted rabbits inside to hide them from the zombies they could've _killed_ me and you never said?"

"I didn't want to be the one to break it to you!" I cried in protest. "It'd put you off bunnies forever!"

"You're damn right it would! For a good reason!"

For a few minutes, we just sat there, pressing our weight against the door. Rabbits were cute, and scary sometimes, but they were also stupid. After a few minutes, they'd give up and decide that they'd imagined you.

But these ones took a while longer to give up.

They managed to slice some of the door to splinters, and slashed me a few times on the back before they left.

It hurt, sure.

But I'd had worse.

And to think the Guide was complaining . . . he didn't even know what pain was.

Wordlessly, I reached into my pouch and brought out the healing potion. We shared it and made our way towards our bedframes.

"I can't be bothered," I admitted. "I just can't. At the moment I just want to sleep. I'll block up the hole in the door and then I'm just going to sleep."

"Me too." admitted the Guide. "Oh . . . and . . . sorry. Really. I've just had a rough few days. You know?"

I smiled. "I do. I really do. I'm sorry too."

After barricading the door, I noticed that our goldfish had turned purple and were thrashing about.

Damn blood moon.

But fish can't walk.

"Guide . . ." I began. "I . . . really am sorry. For everything. Really."

"Me too." he mumbled.

"No," I said quietly. "You haven't got anything to be sorry for."

Unable to reply, the Guide slowly drifted off to sleep, and I followed.

**An Interlude**

Sarita never really believed in god.

Her mother was convinced she prayed every night, never had any impure thoughts and never, _ever_ doubted.

None of this was the case.

But she had to pretend.

If she wanted to live.

Which she did.

But she was worried. Things were going wrong in the village.

The darkness and the monsters and all of hell was coming.

She could feel it.

The Corruption was coming.

She could feel it and see it and taste it.

All of her senses told her to run.

To leave town and never come back.

But what would she do? Where would she go?

No one left the village and survived. No one.

Not even her dad. Her dad, a highly trained swordsman. Her dad, the rebel. Her dad, the one who taught her that there must be more out there. Her dad . . .

Who spoke out. Who was driven out. Who never came back.

Who never said goodbye.

Who her mother never forgave, but she forgave with all her heart.

Who had not fathered her newborn sister.

Her dad.

Her dad, who she knew she was going to see again.

Her dad, who she knew was alive. Who she knew couldn't have succumbed to the corruption. He was still out there. She knew it.

And she was determined to see him again.

She had a plan.

"Sarita! Sarita!" cried her mother, rushing into her room. "You must come! To the church! We have been sent a messenger from God! An angel!"

4


	5. Beliefs

Everything was finished.

Everything was done.

The house was full of furniture, and plants, and tools.

I'd managed to set up a workplace, and had made axes and swords and hammers out of stone and, most importantly, pickaxes.

All with the Guide's help, of course.

I wouldn't have been able to do it without him.

We'd already scoured the valley for our belongings and only found one of the Guide's dictionaries, some of my gold coins, a featherfall potion, as well as some dayblooms that we thought must have sprouted from the seeds in my pouch. But we'd found nothing other than stone, dirt, and clay in the ground. No ore, no gemstones, just stone. We didn't dig very deep of course.

Why of course?

I'm not sure, but I learned long ago to trust my instincts, as the Guide had.

But today was the day. This morning, we equipped ourselves with all of the essentials, and more in my case of course, and set off. For the hills around the valley.

We had found everything there was to be found here, we felt sure of it.

It was time to leave.

To go where?

We didn't know.

But I couldn't stay here long. I was an explorer, and I'd been presented with a whole new land to explore.

The last two years had been like hell.

But they were over now.

It was only the Guide's insistence that kept me in the valley for the month we'd been there. That, of course, and the little voice inside me saying "Sure, it's a new place, but don't explore it all at once! Save some of it for later!"

I was only eighteen, but I was a hero.

And this place, wherever it was, was in trouble. It needed my help.

I could feel it.

The hills were tall, but not steep. They weren't too hard to climb.

It didn't take all that long to reach the top of the hill.

Of course, I had to wait for the Guide to catch up. He had already forced me to stop so that he could rest seven times.

In six hours.

Honestly.

But, I suppose, he's hardly as seasoned a hiker as me.

"Top of the mountain!" shouted the Guide over the wind. "Big moment! Don't look over the top before me!"

"It's hardly a _mountain_!" I shouted back. "Just a big hill! You'd never be able to climb a mountain, or not withou-"

I cut myself off, however, when I see something gleam in the sunlight.

Something in the sky.

Instinctively, I reach for my sword. But it occurs to me that something that high up is rather hard to hit with a sword and I reach for my bow and the arrows I had attached to my waist, and for a moment I irrationally wished that I'd had materials to make a quiver. It's make this much easier.

Whatever this was.

As the flying thing grows closer, I recognise the glint of razor-sharp feathers and vaguely human shape of a harpey.

Damn. A harpey. Those things are more annoying and more ferocious than any demon eye. And it's getting closer. I nock three arrows in my bow and call out to the Guide.

"Guide! Harpey!" The Guide's eyes widen as he reaches for his bow, the harpey still approaching, rapidly gaining speed.

I wait until it's within range, then shoot all three arrows directly at it. The harpey lets out an inhuman scream of pain and falls out of sight.

I frown. How high up are we? Normally harpies only appear at ridiculously high altitudes.

I look back at the Guide and see him struggling to nock his arrow. I sigh.

Some Guide.

"Guide!"I call at him. "I'm not waiting for you any longer! I'm looking!"

"No!" he calls, running towards me, but it's too late.

I don't know what I was expecting to see, but this wasn't it.

I had myself ready for a vast, corrupted land.

Not this.

I really hate my luck.

The Guide appears at my side, and stares down.

By which I mean straight down.

"Oh . . ." I groan from beside him. "Oh, for god's sake . . ."

"Glad we found that Featherfall potion now, right?" the Guide asks.

**An Interlude**

Sarita ran after her mother to the village square in her nightgown.

She couldn't help but feel conspicuous.

Why had her mum let her stay in bed so late?

And then, of course, yet another message from god had appeared.

This was the third time in a month.

The first time, it was a stone shaped like a church. That had been her personal favourite.

The next was an statue of an angel that had been found near the church. Of course, this was _clearly_ a message from god, not just something carved by an idiot to get everyone's spirits up.

The last one had been a pickaxe that, apparently, "fell out of the sky". It was a cool pickaxe, to be sure, it was gold and had meteorite and hellstone built into it so it glowed and radiated heat.

But if it was a message, what did it say?

Mine? What?

It could've been more clear.

And now, apparently, it was an angel.

As if.

She'd seen an angel before, back when her dad was still in the village. He had explained to her that is was simply something that _looked_ like an angel.

But was more likely a bird or some foul monster from the corruption.

Which was what she believed.

Which was what she wanted to prove.

She wanted everyone to open their eyes and see their religion for the lunatic cult that it was.

"Mum!" she called, lost in the crowd. "Mum!"

"Sarita! I'm here!" replied her Mum, suddenly next to her. "But we must hurry! To the church!"

Sarita rolled her eyes in her mind. The church? It had been the village square a moment ago! Had something to do with the "angel" been deemed yet more religious?

And therefore yet more ridiculous?

She hurried alongside her mother, who was clutching her so-called-sister. She could hardly say sister. Her dad had had nothing to do with the baby.

She allowed herself, for a moment, to smirk. According to their religion, wasn't someone supposed to marry before they had a baby? But her smile quickly faded.

Did that mean her mum was in trouble?

Did that mean she would be driven out too? Like her dad?

And, after she found it impossible to keep this act of concern up for any longer, her?

Then they could be one happy family.

One happy, banished, family.

A family that consisted of a mum with a baby that did not belong to the dad, the dad who would never forgive the mum for giving up on him, and the daughter who just wanted the corruption to simply _stop spreading_?

Fat chance.

Not that their family might overcome the odds and end up together, but that the corruption would stop spreading. That it wouldn't keep creeping over the hills and devour their village because the people were stupid enough to believe that God would save them?

She arrived at the church and banished these thoughts from her mind, putting her spiritually-enlightened mask up again.

However, nobody seemed to be going inside the church. They had all frozen and were staring up at the sky, some muttering their prayers. She looked up . . .

. . . and couldn't look down again.

An angel. Or, at least, it looked like an angel.

It was close. Close enough for her to see it's mane of blue hair and razor sharp feathers. Close enough to recognise it from a book.

A book of monsters.

It was no angel.

It was a harpey.

A harpey.

And it was close.

Very close.

Close enough to take a swipe at them. To send some of it's feathers shooting towards whoever it pleased and slice though them like butter.

Some of the more educated swordsmen who, she knew, secretly looked up to her father, began shouting orders to the civilians and drawing their bows.

"It's no angel! It's a harpey! Get inside the church, quick!" called out one of the men, but he was silenced by a punch in the face from her neighbour.

The neighbour that she really, really hated.

"Of course it's an angel, you fool!" he shouted. "Don't you dare insult god with your blasphemy!"

The men with their bows out realised that they were outnumbered by the believers and, hesitantly, stowed them beneath their intricately patterned cloaks.

She couldn't believe it. A harpey was about to attack them and nobody was doing anything! She wanted to shout and scream and bully everyone to safety, but she knew she couldn't.

She wouldn't be exiled, she was just a child.

A child who could learn that god was all-powerful.

So she would be sent on the path to enlightenment . . .

. . . but she knew that the path had become a bit less spiritual since it lead up a hill that was now corrupted.

She knew friends who had been sent on that path.

They'd never come back.

Apparently God had seen that their souls were weak and deemed them unfit to be enlightened.

So . . . what?

What was God supposed to have done?

Sent them to hell?

They were nice people. And now they were gone.

Forever.

Her eyes welled up with tears and she looked at her mother.

Her mother might die in a few seconds.

All because of her stupid religion.

The harpey circled them for a few more seconds and posed to attack, but all of a sudden seemed distracted.

Sarita knew that harpeys could detect, and fed off, power.

Was something really powerful nearby?

The harpey turned around and circled the sun, before diving towards . . .

. . . The floating island?

Why?

"It's a sign!" cried someone. "It means -" the speaker was cut off by many villagers shouting out what they thought it meant, but they were all silenced as the harpey neared the island . . .

. . . and was struck by three arrows and fell to the ground.

Everybody stopped and stared, unable to believe what had just happened.

". . . was that really an angel?" someone asked. "They're supposed to be immortal!"

"Then it's not dead!" someone, her mother she realised, called in reply. "We must go and find it! Help treat it's wounds!"

"You idiots!" the swordsman who had been punched in the face called out. "It wasn't an angel! It was just a harpey! It could've-" he was cut off by several punches issuing from all around him, knocking him to the ground, where he was assaulted by boots. Everybody started cheering on the kickers or telling them to stop.

Sarita just couldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't stand it.

"EVERYBODY STOP!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "MAYBE IT WAS AN ANGEL, MAYBE IT WASN'T! LET'S AT LEAST FIND IT BEFORE WE KILL SOMEONE!"

Everybody stared at her for a few seconds, and her own mother backed away from her.

"She's right!" somebody called.

"Let's go looking for it!" called another.

And another.

And another.

Until the whole square was moving towards the spot where the angel had fallen.

Sarita pushed herself to the front of the crowd and lead them on.

She knew that this was it.

The path of enlightenment.

But it wasn't like it wasn't worth it.

5


	6. High Altitude Islands

I resisted the urge to punch the Guide in the face and took in a deep breath.

I just stood there for a few minutes, staring down, and the Guide did not object.

". . . A floating island," I concluded. "I hate floating islands more than anything in the world now."

"Fair enough," replied the Guide. "But I just thought of something."

"What?"

"This would be why we never see any zombies. Inside the valley we were at an altitude where we never see any harpies, too low, but too high to see zombies. They'd be down there."

My fists clenched and trembling, I realised that there was a village not far away from us, on the ground.

A village, I couldn't help but notice, that's population was marching towards the dead harpey.

Why?

I sighed and supposed I'd find out.

"I just thought of something else," announced the Guide. "Featherfall potion only works on one person. We can't share it. One of us will have to stay behind."

I stared at him. He looked almost miserable. He thought I was going to leave him behind.

No way.

Did he always have to think so logically?

The odds were against him, but he never even bothered to consider the almost impossible.

The almost too lucky.

"No," I said plainly. "You're not staying behind. For all we know, my lucky horseshoe could be around here somewhere. That's what we need right now."

The Guide looked like he was going to burst out laughing. I rolled my eyes. "The horseshoe I wear around my neck. Stops you from breaking anything when you fall from a ridiculously great height."

The Guide nodded. "Right. That makes more sense."

I scanned the valley. No sign of any horseshoe. Of course, it was hard to tell with the naked eye from such a height.

But I reckon I'm good at noticing powerful magical things.

Or at least better than I was when I . . .

No, don't think about that. That was embarrassing.

I look for a while longer, then glance over the edge of the island. The villagers had found the harpey and seemed to be fighting among themselves. I shook my head.

But then I see something.

On the wrong side of the mountain.

My lucky horseshoe.

The Guide had seen it too and he stared at me, eyes pleading.

I'd never been able to say no to that face.

To those eyes.

Even when they were asking me to build a moonglow farm for his birthday.

"Take the potion," I said.

"No." he whispered. "Zelda68, you just can't do this. It's impossible. No."

I looked him straight into those pleading eyes. "No such thing as impossible." I pulled out the potion. "Besides, you know how stubborn I am. You'll never be able to convince me otherwise."

The Guide stared at me. He thought I was crazy. He thought I was going to die.

"If you die," he said, scowling. "I'll kill you."

"I'll try not to die."

"Don't just jump. Use the rope."

"Like I'd be stupid enough to jump. You hold the rope. Take the potion and jump once I grab the horseshoe."

"Zelda68 . . ." he started, but seemed unable to finish. All of a sudden, he hugged me. "I'm your Guide. I'll do what you tell me. Just be careful." He let me go and I couldn't help but frown at him.

"Maybe you shouldn't listen to me. This is pretty stupid."

He laughed and took the rope out of his pouch, securing it to his belt. I tied the other end around me like a harness and secured it to my belt.

And then I abseiled.

The other side of the mountain was steep, but not a sheer drop. There were ridges in the vine-covered stone and as the Guide slowly lowered the rope I descended. It was harder than I thought it would be.

Nothing had ever been harder than I thought it would be before.

It didn't feel good.

The Guide was going to be dragged forwards soon. There wasn't enough rope.

It occurred to me that this was the first time in two years that my life was in danger. The corrupted bunnies and harpey were never really a danger to my life, but this was.

But something inside me, that mule-headed, confident, stubborn, _heroic_ part of me told me that I was going to make it.

I'd come so far.

It wasn't ending here.

Not like this.

Or was it? Something was wrong. Something obvious. Something tugging at my memory . . .

_I couldn't help but gasp in amazement when I saw the building in-front of me. It was made of gold bricks, and I'd bet any money that a treasure chest was in there._

_ My first floating island, and I'd claimed it in under a week!_

_ With only a long grappling hook and a good arm!_

_ A new record!_

_ "In your face!" I shouted at an imaginary Guide._

_ He said I couldn't do it._

_ He said I'd get myself killed._

_ But here I was!_

_ Still very, very alive!_

_ I walked towards the building, a smirk on my face. I opened the door and heard something behind me. I turned around and . . ._

_ . . . felt something sharp embed itself in my thigh._

_ I let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground, swearing violently. Trying to ignore the pain and the sight of my own blood, I looked down at my leg and saw . . ._

_ . . . a razor-sharp feather, that looked as if it was made of metal._

_ I heard a cry behind me that sounded distinctly bird-like. I turned around and found myself face-to-face with a harpey._

_ What had the Guide said about harpies?_

_ He said they were going to be the end of me if I tried to come up here._

I am such an idiot!_ I couldn't help but think as I gazed at the creature. _Couldn't I have listened to him for once?

_The creature reared up again to attack, but somehow my fingers found their way around the grenade the Demolitionist had let me "try out" earlier. I pulled the pin out with my teeth and threw it at the harpey._

_ But my aim was off._

_ My arm was shaking, and could I help it?_

_ The grenade landed at the harpey's feet and I backed away as the harpey bent down, as if expecting the grenade to be a tasty snack . . ._

_ The grenade exploded and took the harpey, as well as the front of the building, and very nearly me, with it._

_ Gold rubble landed all over me and I couldn't focus on anything other than the pain. I must've lain there for about ten minutes, before I reached a trembling hand into my pouch and brought out a healing potion._

_ I downed it in one gulp, but it was just enough to stop most of the pain, not even to start the healing process. I forced myself to sit upright and grit my teeth._

_ Here comes the _real_ pain . . ._

_ I grabbed and pulled out the harpey feather out of my leg in one moment, causing stars to explode in-front of my eyes and sending me crashing to the ground again. I swore a blue streak and turned my mind to my pouch._

_ I desperately needed another healing potion._

_ I once again reached into my pouch and froze._

_ No._

_ No._

_ Yes._

_ I didn't have any more._

_ I'd used the other that morning when I had gone into the Demolitionist's shop and found him barely concious after trying out new type of bomb. Of course, once I healed him, he practically forced a grenade into my hands and told me that I'd never go back to a bow and arrow again._

_ I'm glad I helped him, otherwise I'd be dead._

_ But now I might die because I helped him._

_ Typical._

_ But hang on . . ._

_ I turned around and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a chest._

_ If I was lucky . . . which I never was . . ._

_ I dragged myself over to the chest and opened it to see exactly what I needed – five healing potions, a gold coin, an archery potion and . . ._

_ . . . a horseshoe?_

_ A lucky horseshoe?_

_ That made no sense._

_ But, I supposed, luck had given me enough as is._

_ I gulped down three of the healing potions and began to feel my wounds healing._

_ I bandaged up the wounds that I knew would bother me for a while later and turned to leave._

_ I supposed I had been lucky._

_ But that was only because luck really, really owed me._

_ No less than six harpies were circling the sun, ready to swoop._

_ . . . but I had an archery potion, right?_

_ I gulped down the potion and pulled out my bow._

_ Never go back to a bow and arrow?_

_ As if._

"Harpies . . ." I thought aloud, resurfacing from the flashback. "Swarm . . ."

I looked up at the sun.

Three harpies.

I knew they liked to attack in groups of six, but I'd really annoyed them.

The Guide couldn't shoot them, he was holding onto the rope. I couldn't without letting go of the rock face, and then the Guide would fall . . .

Better be quick, then!

"Guide! Faster!" I called. The rope began to slack and I edged down the rocks as quickly as I could.

I could see the horseshoe, it was just out of reach . . .

The rope stopped moving.

Oh, for god's sake . . .

I thought quickly, and came to a conclusion. There were now five harpies, and I couldn't afford to wait!

"Guide! Let go of the rope!"

It was the stupidest thing I'd ever done in my life.

Or maybe not _the_ stupidest.

But damn close.

I untied the rope from my belt and fell.

Fast.

But just in time, I reached out an arm and grabbed the horseshoe.

For one terrifying second, I missed.

For one second, I was in free-fall.

My heart skipped a beat and refused to start . . .

Until I grabbed the horseshoe.

The ground was approaching fast . . .

It was hard to think straight . . .

But there was enough sense left in me and the weightless world I had suddenly entered to put the horseshoe around my neck . . .

And all of a sudden, the ground slowed down and I started to float.

I was, quite literally, walking on air.

"THAT WAS THE STUPIDEST THING YOU'VE EVER DONE! I'M NEVER GOING TO TRUST YOU AGAIN!" shouted the Guide, falling by me.

I give him my best grin, complete with too many teeth. "Good! I'm stupid! But it worked, didn't it?"

We landed in unison, right in-front of the villagers, who had stopped their fighting to gape at us.

A young girl with red hair was pushed out of the crowd and toward us.

"See? Angels. Very real angels!" said the man who had pushed her forward. He turned back to the crowd. "Stop gawking! Why do you all look so surprised?"

Nobody moved.

I stepped forward and smiled.

"I'm Zelda68, and this is the Guide. We come from Terraria, we're hardly angels!"

Nobody moved.

". . . Introductions in order?" I asked the young girl.

". . . I'm . . . I'm Sarita." she bowed.

"Sarita?" I asked with a frown. ". . . Never heard a name like that before. It's lovely."

"Th-thank you." she said with another bow.

"No need to bow!" I said with a laugh. "I'm not an angel, remember?"

". . . you're really not? How did you float?"

"Featherfall potion and a lucky horseshoe." Sarita looks like she is fighting back a smile. I laugh. "That sounds so ridiculous. But it's true."

". . . I . . . I'm almost glad! The last time the others thought there was an angel . . . well . . ." she indicated towards the dead harpey.

"Sarita!" gasped a woman holding a baby. "Be quiet!" The woman put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes and stepped in front of the girl. "I'm Sarita's mother. Please excuse her, she's to be sent on the path of enlightenment immediately! Sarita, go! Now!"

Sarita fixed me with a glance so pleading that I just knew that the path of enlightenment wasn't a good thing.

"Hang on, hang on," I said, taking a step towards her mother. "Why is Sarita going on the path? And what exactly is it?"

"The path . . . children go there to learn to follow God. Sarita is going there because she . . . she . . . when a fight started over whether the harpey was a harpey or an angel, she shouted . . . that we . . . go and find the body, to find out."

"But that doesn't make sense. She did the right thing."

"She doubted God!" the woman cried.

"So she _has_ to go on the path?"

"Yes."

"Where is the path?"

The woman pointed to a hill.

A hill . . . a dead hill.

A corrupted hill.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

A chill that is immediately replaced by courage.

There was more corruption.

I would get rid of it.

This was my job.

My duty.

This was what I was _for_.

I am a hero.

Time to make like one.

My face turns hard and I turn to the woman.

"You got any Dryads around here? I could do with some purification powder."

**X X X**

I can't believe it.

I honestly can't believe it.

These people live on the edge of the corruption and live out their day-to-day lives and do nothing to prevent it.

It's mad.

It's just mad.

But, I suppose, there's no cure for madness. I'll just have to help them anyway.

But I don't think that any of them actually believe me, about who I am.

_What_ I am.

Which I can't help but hold a grudge against them for.

Except Sarita. She believes me.

It's been agreed – she has to go on the path, but I can go with her.

An added bonus for them, I suppose. Another believer.

But I'm pressed for time.

The path of enlightenment is tomorrow.

But, I mean . . . they won't mind if I bring a sword, right?

But there's two things I need right now.

Sunflowers. I have a few, but not enough.

And, perhaps most importantly, purification powder.

I can survive in the corruption, but I can't stop it spreading without it.

I have to prove to them that I'm a hero, they maybe they'll let me leave.

Then I can find a forest.

And where there's a forest, there's a Dryad. And, hopefully, purification powder.

Then I can save this village.

I have to.

I'm a hero.

Don't I?

Yes.

So here I am.

Walking to the village square, Sarita at my side.

I have to prove to them that I am who I say I am.

Whatever it takes.

This village is running out of time.

We reach the centre of the village and I look around, startled.

So many people . . .

"What is it?" Sarita asks, puzzled.

". . . so many . . . people . . ." I reply vaguely. "I've . . . never . . . never been to a village before. Unless you count the one that I built myself, and only seven other people live there, and I know them pretty well."

"Well, the village is fifty strong at the moment. Or something along those lines. There used to be more, but . . . well, you know what happened to them. Everybody knows somebody who was killed by the corruption, and they're stupid enough to believe that god will save them."

"But . . . there must be some people who know the truth. Everyone thought that you were a bog-standard believer until you spoke out, so maybe all of these people think the same."

Sarita paused for a moment, staring into the crowd. "I . . . guess. I never really . . . thought about it . . ."

"Come on, let's go," I said. "We don't have long."

Sarita immediately regains confidence and walks alongside me. I can't help but be impressed by her. She's only thirteen, but she's just as strong as me.

Strong enough to grow up among this crowd, anyway . . .

I've only been here a few hours and it's already driving me around the bend . . .

We walk for a minute more and stop at a building next to the church.

"The mayor's house," Sarita explained. "I'll bet any money that he'll want to see you, and he'll be able to tell you where the nearest forest is."

When we entered, I paused to admire my surroundings.

All of the stone walls were intricately carved with detailed images - images of battles, great warriors and pictures of an elderly man in a cloak with a halo, the one I took to be their God.

Seeming laughably insignificant in this grand scene was a small, old man with grey hair and large glasses that gave him the appearance of a wise, slightly bewildered owl. He was sitting at a desk with his fingers in the shape of a steeple.

"Sir," I said with a small bow, making my way towards the desk. I didn't know how important this man was in this society, given that they worshipped god, but I decided to be on the safe side.

"You are the one who came from the floating island." he replied in what I couldn't tell was a question or a statement.

"I am Zelda68, sir, of the land of Terraria."

"Why did you come here?" he asked, leaning forward so that I could see his eyes behind his spectacles.

"I am a hero, sir." I replied. "I saved the land of Terraria from the corruption that threatened to devour it."

"But how did you come to be here?" he pursued. "And on the floating island, of all places? Did God send you?"

"I do not know how I came to be here, but I am here now. And I intend to fulfil the duties set to me."

"What duties?"

"Like I have said, I am a hero, sir. This land needs my help. Unless you wish to leave the future of this village to the hands of fate, I am going to help it."

"And if I do leave this land to fate?" he asked, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

My face remains carefully expressionless. "Then I shall help it anyway. I can't just stand here and watch a peaceful village like this corrupt. Neither could I Terraria, which is why I am standing here now."

The mayor stands up, as if to stop me, but I can't silence myself. "Sir, do you want this land to die? If you do, keep me here. I can stop the corruption, I have in the past." I draw myself up to full height. "I defeated the Eater of Worlds. I slayed the dungeon guardian. I . . ." the mayor raises his eyebrows at me. "I killed the Eye of Cthulhu."

"Only just judging by that pause," the mayor said. "But to be honest, I think you're just what we need right now." I can't help but be startled by his sudden openness. The mayor grins, comes up to me and shakes my hand as if I was an old friend. "No need to be so surprised! You honestly think I'd just leave this village to the corruption, did you? And no need to be so formal! Even I'm not usually that formal, especially to myself!" The mayor turns away with a chuckle and starts walking away, and I follow, bewildered.

"But seriously," he begins, without turning around. "You're just what we need right now. In fact, we needed you before now. You're late. That was very rude of you. But anyway, we've needed a hero to save us from the corruption for ages. I'm very glad you're here, now."

I frowned. "But if you've needed someone to save you for years, why not send out swordsmen? Your best? Wouldn't they be able to stop it?"

"No," he answered simply, leading us down a corridor that's walls are as beautifully decorated as the reception's. "We needed a hero, not some God-crazed swordsman! We needed someone from somewhere else, not someone who thinks that god is giving the power to fight off any enemy, no matter how powerful. We needed someone _sensible_." he turns to me with a grin. "Though I suppose we've lost that one on you."

I can't help but laugh and bring a hand to my face to cover it. "That's true."

"Once again, stop being so formal! Everyone keeps acting like that, it's driving me around the bend! Does everyone just act like that around me?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, you _are_ mayor."

"Well, it's not like I _want_ to be." he said, imitating me.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He sighs and indicates to the carvings on the walls. "I'm mayor because . . . because I _see_ things. All of these battles, they're from this land's history. But when I think of them, I see the details. I see the uniforms on the soldiers and the terrified looks in their eyes. I see the demons and the death and . . . everything. I carved all of these to show the world what the past really looked like." He looks at me, all of a sudden incredibly tired. "That lot out there made me mayor because they thought that I had a gift from god or something like that." he throws his hands up in the air. "And who knows, maybe I do! But honestly, this is the most boring job in the world. IN THE WORLD."

I smile. "I dunno, you should meet the Guide. Although, he doesn't mind his job. After all, he was made for it. Where is he, anyway?"

The mayor smiled. "I had a chat with him and then he headed straight for the library."

"What's a library?"

The mayor laughed. "You'll soon find out. He'll tell you all about it, I'm sure!"

"Actually, hang on a minute . . . there were pictures of your God back there. Does that mean that he's really real?"

"Ah," he said with a crafty grin. "I did that one to keep the believers happy. My secretary's idea, she's a bit God-obsessed."

I paused to look more carefully at the carvings on the wall. I was immediately drawn to the picture of a battle.

"That's the battle for the hill. The one that we now use for the path of enlightenment. There was a battle there about a hundred years ago, between those faithful to god and those who didn't believe. There have been battles like that century after century, and I'll bet you anything that there'll be another one sometime soon."

I frown. "Can't the believers and non-believers just live together peacefully?"

The mayor laughed. "You're such an idealist!" he threw up his hands in defence at my offended expression. "As am I! As am I! But it's harder than it sounds! I've tried, believe me, but no one admits to being atheist. They either don't want to put their family in danger or don't think that anyone else would go with them and then they'd be beaten to death or some equally noble reason. It's quite annoying, actually."

"Hang on," I said, stopping in my tracks. "Where are we actually walking? This corridor is going on forever."

The mayor paused as well, thinking. ". . . Ah, yes, I remember! Well, you see, this corridor goes on a while because I told the people who designed this place that I would have an awful lot of . . . inspirations. But!" He turned to me, a wrinkled finger raised. "From here onwards, here being about . . . four years ago, I stopped getting just history details. I started seeing what was happening in other lands. Well, as it turns out, not lands. One land. Yours. Terraria."

I stared at him. "You saw me?"

"You, everything you did, and everyone you met. Every detail of where you were from and where you were going. Namely, here. I knew it. We needed you, and you were coming. Why else would I see you?"

I stared at him, unable to speak. ". . . so . . . you know me well already?"

"Very well." he answered with a smile. "Take a look."

I glanced at the carvings in the wall, and was immediately hit by de-ja-vu. I could see everything. From the lost child wandering in the hills, and after a long walk down the corridor, the talk with the Guide on the beach.

"Why in such a hurry?" the mayor asked. "Took me years to carve all the stuff that happened between then and the beach. Years of _your_ life. Why skip to the end?"

I paused.

Should I tell him?

I'd never told anyone . . .

"There . . ." I began, finding it hard to finish. ". . . there . . . are things back there . . . that I'd rather not remember."

The mayor reached out and squeezed my arm encouragingly. "That's okay. I understand. You've been through an awful lot of pain for someone so young. I'd never even held a sword until I was forty. And even then, it was just because I was feeling bored."

"You're lucky." I muttered.

"Exactly." said the mayor. "You're not. And I really am sorry to ask so much of you, but this village needs you. You need to defeat whatever monsters that keep the corruption spreading, just like you did the Eye of Cthulhu."

I winced at the mention of that monster. "That was years ago. And that was luck."

"No, it wasn't. You defeated that demon and survived. You're a hero, always have been and always will be."

I stared at him.

"You didn't see everything, then."

I walked off.

I knew he wouldn't believe me if I told him the truth.

Why didn't he know?

No-one knew.

I didn't want anyone to know . . .

But not telling anyone was eating me away inside.

But I couldn't tell him.

Why?

I just couldn't.

I wish I could.

I really do.

More than anything.

But something was stopping me.

Maybe it was that tiny little part of me that, time to time, made me do something sensible.

Something called common sense.

I really hate common sense.

"What do you mean?" asked the mayor with a frown, catching up to me.

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I felt tears well up in my eyes.

I hadn't cried in years . . . not since the Eye of Cthulhu . . .

He had been so nice to me, and I'd pushed him away . . .

"Tell me one thing."

". . . What?"

"If whatever it was that I don't know about wasn't recorded on the walls, which it isn't, but you thought it was . . . now that you know it isn't there, would you look at all of your life?"

". . . Yes. Definitely."

"Fair enough. But if you ever want to tell anyone, which I know you do, I'm here."

I looked at him. The tears blurred my vision and I did my best to wipe them away.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome. And I really am sorry, but we need your help."

I nod.

"There's a forest to the east of the village. I'll go and get you some sunflowers, set them up around the village so the corruption doesn't spread here while you're gone. I'll also cancel the path of enlightenment for you and Sarita."

"Okay. Thanks."

As he went off to get the sunflowers, there was only one thing I could think about.

I had to tell someone.

I _had_ to.

I would tell the mayor, and the Guide.

But not now.

I didn't matter now.

Now the only thing that mattered was that the village made it through the night.

I might be a part of that, but I don't matter to myself.

All that matters to me is everyone else.

That's what a hero is supposed to think about.

. . . right?

10


	7. Confrontation

The Guide can be so annoying sometimes. He'd been pretty nice lately, but not anymore.

He just goes on and on and on about the library, and won't listen to a word I say.

"Yeah, I get the idea!" I cry after ten minutes. I grab him by the shoulders. "Listen Guide, I don't mind your book obsession, but now is not the time for it. You can read all the books in the library once this village is safe, but for now, _please_ just be quiet."

The Guide looked like he was having an internal struggle, but decided to keep quiet with a small nod.

"Thanks," I said. "Now let's go and plant the sunflowers."

It took us the rest of the day to set up the sunflowers around the village, with the odd bit of help from Sarita. We had just finished when something occurred to me.

"Sarita," I said seriously. "Do you have zombies here at night?"

She paused and frowned at me. "Very rarely. Not in the last few months. Why?"

I let out a sigh of relief. "There were zombies every night in Terraria when the corruption was still spreading. Demon eyes too. I'm glad there aren't here."

Sarita seemed unable to answer. "Terraria," she began after a while. ". . . sounds like a pretty tough place."

I nod simply.

"How did you survive there for so long?"

I paused. "Because . . . because I was born there. Zombies were just a natural occurrence, if you can call the corruption natural. Everyone there was just . . . used to it."

For a while no one said anything, before the Guide broke the silence. "I'm soooo hungry . . ."

"Guide, you can last. You ate at dawn."

"You haven't eaten since?" Sarita asked, shocked. "You can come to the restaurant with me."

"What's a restaurant?" the Guide and I asked in unison.

"Food. You got any money?"

"Just a few gold," I replied. "How much will it cost?"

"That'll cover it, definitely!"

"But why don't you just go home? Your mum will probably have dinner ready for you."

"I don't think she'll want to see me right now." Sarita replied, looking at the ground.

"Why?" I asked with a frown. "Because you tried to save that swordsman from being beaten to death?"

". . . Well, yes. It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but she's so crazy about that stupid religion and in her eyes, I doubted God. That's a major offence."

"I guess," I reply with a shrug. "But honestly, I don't know how you survived here for so long."

Sarita smiled. "Me neither."

We headed for the restaurant, the sun's last rays falling beneath the corrupted hills.

Those hills . . . I can't stand seeing them there . . .

"As soon as the meal is finished, I'm heading for the forest." I announced suddenly, causing heads to turn.

"Why?" the Guide asked, looking tired. "Can't we just rest for the night? We've been up since four in the morning!"

"You can." I reply simply. The Guide's eyes widen into the pleading expression that I had only recently learned to ignore.

"No!" he cried. "I'm going with you!"

"Guide, it'll be dangerous. The forest could already be corrupted, and you can't use sword or anything."

"I'm alright with a gun!" he protested.

"But a gun doesn't require any kind of skill, and who's to say that this village even has guns?"

"We don't," Sarita announced. "Or at least I've never heard of one."

The Guide desperately searched for something to argue with, but couldn't find anything and let out a grunt of frustration. I grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Guide, listen. It's me who has to do this."

"It always is, isn't it?" he grumbled, starting off to the restaurant.

I can't help but feel concerned.

I can't help being a hero, no matter how hard I might want it.

Doesn't he realise that?

We walk into the restaurant and up to the chef. Nobody else is here – I suppose they're all eating at home.

"Evening," said the chef with a small nod.

"I'll have the fish," Sarita decided after glancing at the menu. "What would you like?" she asked, turning to us.

"Um . . ."

"Er . . ."

"I'll order for you then."

"Just not the fish!" the Guide remarked suddenly. "We've been eating it since we got here."

"Or mushroom soup!" I piped in.

The Guide and I turned to each other in a moment of understanding, our previous argument forgotten.

"Then . . . two chips and salad plates, please."

We sat down at one of the few tables and waited while the chef cooked our meals.

"I trust your taste," the Guide began. "But what did you order us?"

"You'll see," Sarita answered simply with a small smirk that soon turns to a frown. "What did you guys eat in Terraria? No chips, no salad . . ."

"We didn't have a lot of variety," I admit. "Fish, mushrooms . . . I remember the Demolitionist making blinkroot soup, which tasted nice enough until he "accidentally" started mixing in gunpowder, and the Arms Dealer was a fairly good cook, but it was just nourishment potions most of the time."

"And mushroom soup," the Guide reminded me. "But _you_ never ate it anyway."

"I ate it for six months." I corrected him. "That's enough for anybody."

"Hey, I never complained during your firebloom-eating phase."

I glared at him. "I had to eat them for a while after coming back from hell. My stomach couldn't readjust, according to the Nurse."

I turned to Sarita to ask her to back up my argument to find her staring at me. ". . . H- . . . hell?" she asked weakly. "Hell is . . . real?"

"Um . . . yes. And actually, I've been."

"But . . . in the religion here, hell is where heathens and rule-breakers are sent when they die."

"Well, hell is real, but no souls or bodies there as far as I'm aware."

". . . okay."

Sarita seemed unable to continue, so we stayed quiet and waited for our meals. The chef arrived in ten minutes with plates of food. Sarita had fish with what looked like leaves around it, and the Guide and I were presented with brightly-coloured plants and gold wedges. While Sarita began cutting up her fish, the Guide and I stared at our meals, as if trying to judge them without having to eat them. To us, it was strange new food and we didn't trust it right away, like the Dryad's "fish soup".

I mean, fish _soup_?

It didn't seem right.

"Trust me." Sarita said suddenly. "You're going to like it."

Nervously, we began eating. Soon we had finished.

"Did you like it?" Sarita asked slightly nervously, as if her own food was being judged.

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm hardly a critic. Food is food."

"No, you're not." the Guide agreed. "She has all kinds of stories about tough spots involving disgusting food. Well, food isn't the right word. But that was pretty good."

Sarita grinned. "Glad you like it. I've been eating it my whole life."

"That'll be five silver," announced the chef. I paid him in a gold and he stared at it like he had never seen one in his life. "Uh . . . I might have to give you change in copper. I'll just be a second."

"Actually, no need." I said. "You obviously haven't seen a gold coin in a while, so keep it."

The chef glanced from me to the coin over and over again until he somehow managed speech. "Th-thank you very much, madam!"

I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "No problem."

Once we left the restaurant, we walked Sarita home and helped her sneak into her bedroom through the window.

"Sarita, if you have time tomorrow, can you widen the circle of sunflowers as far as possible?" I asked. "Here are some spare." I handed her some sunflowers and she smiled.

"You know, you might be used to working all day, but I'm not." she replied, not sounding annoyed at all.

"Sorry." I say with a pitying expression that turns into a smirk. "But at least we'll be giving you something to do."

The Guide and I walked back towards the village square.

"Why are we going to the square?" he asked after a minute. "Find a hotel? I thought you were going to find a Dryad."

"I am, but I need some proper weapons. These are nice, but they're wood and stone. And given the price of that meal, I'd say that I could afford some nice and shiny ones."

The Guide frowned. "But you put a lot of work into those. Why not just upgrade them? Plate them with whatever? Then you might feel the same about them as your old ones."

I stopped walking and turned to him. "They won't be the same. These didn't save Terraria, and neither will the new ones. No point in keeping these when better ones won't feel any more special. When I find the old ones, which I will, I'll -"

"Listen," he said, a stern note in his voice. "You'll find the old ones, I'm sure you will, but don't you want to keep the weapons you saved this land with? The ones you made on the floating island, before all this began?"

I turned to him. "I know that you want to come with me, Guide, but it's too dangerous. I didn't survive Terraria, and I was made to save it."

"What do you mean you didn't survive?" he asked with a frown. He stared right into my eyes, trying to find some kind of sadness, or anger, or any emotion at all in them.

". . . A part of me died. That childish, naïve, mushroom-soup-every-day part of me. I'll never be like that again." I stared into the distance. "Not after the Eye of Cthulhu."

He frowned at me. "Why the Eye? You faced the Eater of Worlds, the dungeon guardian and god knows what else before then. Why the Eye?"

I stared at him. "You weren't there. You don't know. You don't understand, and I don't expect you to. Only I know, and I hope it stays that way. I don't want anyone else to go through that pain."

I started walking again, and it was a while before the Guide caught up.

He didn't speak, so I didn't.

I had come so close to telling him.

But I hadn't.

I would.

One day.

But not today.

I found a blacksmith and got him to plate my weapons with silver – couldn't afford gold. After that, I couldn't get any armour, but I supposed that I had spent most of my time in Terraria without it. Maybe he was charging that much because he knew that I had lots of money. It was all a blur, It was hard to focus.

Perhaps the Guide could come with me.

Maybe I wouldn't have died facing the Eye of Cthulhu if the Guide and the Arms Dealer and everybody else had fought with me.

But then they might have died.

And back then, the small amount of peace we had achieved among ourselves was worth dying for.

And I had promised myself that I would take the Eye of Cthulhu with me if I was to die.

And if I did die, I was a small sacrifice for peace.

Why didn't everyone else see that?

Why didn't anyone else see that?

We left the Blacksmith's to see the sun beginning to rise.

I hadn't realised it had taken so long . . .

Neither had the Guide, judging by his expression.

I could see the hills in the morning light . . .

The corruption had spread overnight.

Not far, no more than a metre, but it had spread.

I noticed it, even if nobody else did.

"I haven't slept in over 24 hours." announced the Guide. "A new record."

"For you, maybe . . ." I trailed off, lost in thought.

"Listen," he said suddenly, the same strict note in his voice as last night. "I'm coming with you. The corruption has spread, don't think I haven't noticed." I turned to him, startled. "I noticed long before you did before you became a hero. But . . . I didn't think I could do anything about it. I didn't think anyone could do anything about it. I didn't realise then what the pickaxe meant.

"Even though it was wrong, for life and nature and everything, I thought it would be easier to just let the corruption take Terraria, and take our lives. I thought it would be better than dying in the jaw of a devourer, trying to be a hero. I wasn't a hero. But then when I found out that you were capable enough to save Terraria, I realised that life was well worth dying for.

"And if I die and you live, even in the next few days, it would be worth it. For this village, and for you. You're a hero. You go on. This land needs you, just as Terraria did. If I die so that you live, it would be well worth it. I'm coming with you."

I smile. I can't help it. The smile quickly turns into a grin and I shake his hand. "Yes you are. I'm glad to have you. But you got one thing wrong."

"What?"

". . . I'll tell you later."

5


	8. The Other Dryad

By midday, we were ready.

We had helped Sarita extend the circle of sunflowers as far as they would go without leading us too close to the corruption.

We had food, water, torches and potions and I'd even managed to find a gun for the Guide.

He was so hopeless with a bow and arrow, I didn't have a choice.

Not that it wasn't worth it.

Worth what? To say _we_, not I.

In Terraria, it had always been me packed and ready.

It was exciting to share this new land with someone else.

Even if most of it was corrupted.

It wouldn't be for much longer.

We headed for the hills. It only took about an hour to reach the top, from which we waved to Sarita.

"Okay," I said with a deep breath. "The last time we looked over the top of a hill we were assaulted by a harpey."

"You do the honours, then." replied the Guide, suddenly nervous.

"Okay, but if the forest is corrupted and an Eater of Souls rips my head off, you have to carry my body back."

"Okay, okay. Together."

We looked over the top of the hill and found ourselves faced with our worst nightmare.

Why is it always a nightmare when it could be good for once?

Almost the entire forest is corrupted. Only a thin line of trees close to us remain alive. All of the others have died.

I feel a pang in my heart as I remember the first time I met the Dryad.

_Our_ dryad, I mean.

There's a whole race of them.

If there are, don't they have names?

Wouldn't it get confusing walking around shouting "Hey you!"?

Anyway . . .

_I entered the dead forest, sword in my hands._

_ I had been hoping to find a dryad here, the Guide said that they lived in forests. Do they live in corrupted ones? _Can_ they live in corrupted ones?_

_ I wonder what kind of brand new, deadly, corrupted monster I would find here._

_ Eater of Souls in a normal corrupted landscape._

_ Devourers in soft soil and ebonstone._

_ The list goes on . . . and on . . ._

_ But what in forests?_

_ I hear something to my side and turn around._

_ Nothing there._

_ It's always nothing when there's something . . ._

_ And when there's nothing._

_ I cautiously make my way towards the spot where the noise had come from and see something I was not expecting to._

_ A living tree._

_ With a figure hiding in it._

_ Hiding from me or the corruption?_

_ The corruption is spreading toward the last tree visibly, and I grab a sunflower out of my pouch, planting it in the soil as quickly as possible. The corruption stops._

_ I let out a sigh of relief and turn my attention to the tree and the person hiding in it._

_ "Hello?" I call out. "I know you're up there! Who are you?"_

_ After a few seconds, the figure replies in a voice that reveals it to be female. "Who are you? Why are you in my forest?"_

_ "_Your_ forest? . . . Are you a dryad?"_

_ ". . . Yes."_

_ "I'm here to help you!"_

_ "Help me what?"_

_ I frown. "Get you out of here!"_

_ "Why would I want to leave?"_

_ "You have to! The corruption has spread here, I can bring you somewhere safe!"_

_ "A dryad does not leave her forest! She stays until the last leaf has wilted!"_

_ "But you have to leave! You'll die if you stay!"_

_ "Perhaps I will, but it would be a small sacrifice for my home!"_

_ "No! Your home is as good as dead! I can bring it back to life, but not right now! Right now you have to leave, or you're as good as dead, and then who'll protect the forest once you're gone?"_

_ After a long pause, the dryad lowered herself from the branches of the tree, her long braid dragged behind her. "What's your name?"_

_ "Zelda68. What's yours?"_

_ She frowned. "I am the Dryad."_

_ "I know you are, but what's your name?"_

_ "I am Dryad, guardian of the forest."_

_ ". . . So you don't have a name?"_

_ "Yes, I do! Dryad!"_

_ "Okay, sorry, sorry, sorry!"_

_ "What are you?"_

_ "Uh . . . human."_

_ "But what role do you play in events?"_

_ "Well . . . hero, if I'm lucky."_

_ "And how exactly do you plan to bring this forest back to life, Zelda68?"_

_ ". . . well . . . I haven't worked that bit out yet. Apparently there's this stuff called purification powder, but I haven't been able to find any yet."_

_ The Dryad smiled. "And you call yourself a hero?"_

_ "Well, not yet anyway. It's the Guide that calls me that."_

_ "Here." she handed me a small pouch with a strange symbol on it. I opened it to find it filled to the top with pure white powder. "And here." she handed me another pouch, this time without a symbol on it but bright green. "This will hold anything, no matter how large. And the other is full of purification powder."_

_ "Thank you!" I say with a grin._

_ I sprinkle some powder on the grass around the tree, and it immediately returns to a vivid green. I sprinkle some more on a corrupted tree, and the bark appears to come back to life, but the rest of the tree stays the same._

_ "Hmm . . .the tree might take a few months to properly return to life," concludes the Dryad. "And even then it will not recover properly while the Great Eye still reigns."_

_ I frown. "Great Eye?"_

"Can you see any trees that are still alive?" I asked the Guide. "It will have to be somewhere in the middle of the forest, but it only takes one to keep a dryad alive."

Both of us scan the forest, hoping for some kind of life, but don't see any. I draw my sword and the Guide readies his gun.

We're going in.

We start the descent of the hill, the Guide being extremely careful not to fall. I glare at him. "Hurry up! Better fall than be slow! If the dryad is still alive, it's dying! We have to help it, and quick!"

We started running at full speed down the hill, unable to stop when we reached the bottom. We split up, scouring the forest for some kind of life. I had been searching for a few minutes when I saw a seedling, still alive.

But the corruption already had it's roots.

You can't plant a sunflower in corrupted ground, it'll just die.

But there was no pure ground left . . .

"P-powder . . ." came a weak voice from in the trees. "In . . . pouch . . ."

I ran in the direction of the voice and found a dryad curled up inside the hollow of a tree. I grabbed the pouch secured to it's waist and quickly ran back to the plant.

The corruption had nearly reached the top . . .

I sprinkled the powder on the ground around the sprout, which immediately came back to life. But the corruption reached the top of the sprout before the ground was purified. . .

I immediately grabbed a sunflower from within my pouch and planted it in the ground, stopping the corruption spreading to the seedling again.

The dryad . . .

I ran back to the tree and found the dryad still curled up inside it, not moving. I glanced at it's chest to see it still, but when I checked for a pulse I found it. Uneven, but still there.

"Guide!" I called out desperately. "I need your help!"

I knew that the Guide could help.

He had saved me from drowning on more than one occasion, and I was sure that he could use the same technique on the dryad.

But would he be too late?

_Oh, for god's sake, why didn't I ever ask him how he did it?_ I couldn't help but think as I dragged the dryad out of the hollow.

The Guide appeared next to me and checked for a pulse.

"I already did that! Just do the thing that you did when I drowned!"

The Guide didn't make a comeback as usual, but started rhythmically pressing the dryad's chest with his hands, before breathing his own air into the dryad's mouth.

"Hang on . . . you did that to me?" I asked him, feeling slightly flustered.

"Is that really important right now?"

"Yes!"

"I didn't have a choice! Would you rather have died?"

I wanted to say yes, but I decided that I liked life.

The dryad's hand was turning purple (a colour I long ago learned to associate with corrupted creatures) and it's fingers seemed to be glueing themselves together and sprouting small, dead leaves on a texture that was becoming similar to bark.

"What's happening to his hand?" asked the Guide.

"That's what happens to dryads when their forests corrupt. They turn into corruption monsters." My face turned grim as I remember. "I've had to face down no few of them. They'd lost everything that made them human. Or rather, dryad."

_Please don't let that happen again . . ._

The Guide repeated his process for a minute before turning to me, a guilty expression on his face. "No good. It's dead."

I frowned, checking for a pulse again. "No, he's not! He's not breathing, but he's alive!"

"What?" asked the Guide, checking himself. "That's impossible! It should be dead!"

I paused, thinking. "Dryads aren't like humans, they protect their forest and die when it dies. So maybe . . ." I stood up, clutching the pouch of purification powder.

I walked over to the only pure spot in sight and spread some more powder on the dead grass, bringing it back to life.

"It's working!" the Guide cried triumphantly. "His pulse is regulating!"

Satisfied, I continued spreading powder on the grass until I heard a gasp for air behind me. The dryad sat up, clutching his heart and breathing hard.

"Are you alright?" I asked, concerned. "We used the purification powder on the grass and seedling."

The dryad seemed unable to answer, but continued to clutch his heart. I walked back over to the pure spot and continued to sew the powder until the dryad was breathing fine and seemed to calm down.

I walked back over and observed the dryad. He (if it was a he, hard to tell) had short hair, unlike our Dryad back in Terraria, that was somewhere between very dark green and black. His clothes consisted almost entirely of vines that seemed to have grown around him. He looked about my age, but it's hard to tell with dryads. After all, the one back home was over 300. He looked at us, slightly bewildered. We were likely the first visitors he had had in a large number of years, if he had ever had any, and we had just saved his life.

". . . Th-thank you," he managed around his shock.

"Honestly, that's fine." I said with a smile. "Glad we got here in time!" The Dryad seemed unable to speak, and my smile turned into a grin. "I know how you feel. Takes some getting used to, mortal peril."

He frowned at me. "Are you . . . a hero?"

"I suppose so."

"You more than suppose!" the Guide said, interrupting me. "This is Zelda68, Hero of Terraria and, if things turn out alright, hero of here too!"

"And this is the Guide," I said, pointing my finger right into the middle of his face, making him go cross-eyed. "Who likes to exaggerate."

The Dryad raised his eyebrows and laughed. In fact, he seemed unable to stop. Soon we were with him, laughing at thin air as if it was the most hilarious thing ever. Like I had when I had seen a zombie in a top-hat, and I nearly died because of that. We just couldn't stop, even when we found it hard to breathe. Eventually, after numerous collapses after attempting it, I sat up and kept a straight face and the others soon followed.

I supposed the Dryad had never had anything to laugh at before, except maybe a beetle doing something remotely funny.

"I-I'm a Dryad." he said, trying to keep the smile off his face.

"And _the_ Dryad too, I suppose?" I asked.

"Yes, that's my name."

"Fair enough. But that could get complicated, because we know someone else who's a dryad and is called Dryad."

"All dryads carry the name of the forest guardian." he responded with a frown.

"Yes, but can you think of something else we could call you, for ease of conversation?"

He paused, thinking.

"That's alright," said the Guide, still smiling. "It's a big decision, we'll give you a while."

The Dryad looked at the forest floor in his concentration and found himself confronted with his own hand. He stared at the slightly corrupted hand, completely terrified, until I lay an arm over his shoulder. "It's alright," I said soothingly. "I know how you feel."

"How?" asked the Guide with a frown, and I glared at him.

". . . I . . . I failed . . . protecting the forest from death . . ."

"Hey, it's alright. That's my job, anyway." I replied.

The Dryad glared at me. "No, it's not! The whole world is yours to protect, but this domain was entrusted to me! I failed!"

"Calm down! It was only corrupted for a few seconds, and now it's fine."

"How can you say that? Look around you! Most of the forest is dead!"

"And it won't be for much longer! You're back now, and we can spread the purification powder until the entire forest is better."

". . . but . . . all of the animals and plants that died won't come back . . ."

"The trees will, it'll just take time." I remembered my conversation with the Dryad years ago and my face turned grim. "And victory . . ."

The Guide frowned at me and turned to the Dryad. "Animals breed, and a few are bound to have survived. Everything will be fine."

"But . . . my hand . . . I taint my own home with darkness . . ."

"Don't worry." I said, returning to the present. "Your hand alone isn't enough to keep the corruption spreading here, you need at least an arm and a leg, and even then you'd keep your emotions. Your whole body would have to be corrupted before you'd lose everything. For now, sunflowers could hold it back."

The Dryad turned to me, his face a strange mix of curiosity and sadness. "You have a lot of experience, then. Fighting dryads."

"I've been . . . too late to save them in the past. That's why we only know one dryad, I suppose we could've known six, but I was too late, and the corruption was spreading too fast . . . Not as fast as here . . . But once they were gone, I did my best to grow their forests back."

He seemed to relax slightly. "Good. I was worried you'd . . . conducted experiments."

My face turned grim. "Who'd be twisted enough to do that?"

". . . another. They came walking through these woods not a week ago, and they brought the corruption with them."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "So . . . it wasn't a monster? Not a . . . giant eye? Or a gargantuan worm with teeth and eyes?"

"No. A human. A sick human . . . they almost seemed . . . dead . . ."

The Guide raised his eyebrows. "How could someone dead be walking about? . . . Unless . . . They weren't a zombie, were they?"

"No. They were of the living, but . . . dead. I think it was a corrupted human."

"A corrupted . . . can humans even corrupt?" The Guide turned to me to see me lost in my own thoughts, terrified. ". . . Zelda68?"

. . . that was it.

That was how we got here.

_She_ brought us . . .

I returned to reality. "What did sh – it look like?"

The Dryad frowned and tried to concentrate. "It . . . I think it was female. It was my height, and a bit younger than you . . . it's eyes glowed like embers, and it's skin was the purple of my hand . . ."

I heard a rustling noise behind me and turned around, drawing my sword.

"Zelda68, it was just a bird or something. Why so tense?"

I turned to him and debated whether to tell him or not.

No.

"Oh, don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"The I-Know-Something-You-Don't-And-Am-Debating-How-Much-I-Can-Tell-You look. I _hate_ that look."

"It's not like you've seen it on me before!"

"I have! Quite a few times since yesterday! What is it?"

"It's nothing! I'm not debating anything! It's just . . ."

"It's just . . ."

". . . I think that this thing might be the equivalent of the Eye of Cthulhu."

"Really?"

"Eye of what?" the Dryad asked, looking confused. "I'm in the dark here."

"The Eye of Cthulhu was the monster that brought the corruption and started it spreading in Terraria." the Guide answered easily. "Zelda68 here killed it, but very nearly died in the process."

". . . nearly . . ." I mumbled.

"What?"

"N-nothing. I'm fine. But . . . we should start powdering the ground."

The Guide laughed. "You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds!"

"Shut up."

It took us ages to purify the forest, even with the three of us spread out. The forest was big, bigger than any in Terraria. The sun was setting by the time we were finished, and the Guide and I headed back to the hill, the Dryad close behind. By the time we reached the top of the hill, it was night.

"I'll head back then," concluded the Dryad, waving. "It was nice to meet you."

"Wait!" I called. "It's not safe in the forest anymore. Who's to say that the . . . _thing_ won't just come here again and corrupt it?"

"Then how can I leave? It is my duty to stand and guard the forest."

"But even with the corruption nearby, monsters will start to swarm there."

"I can't just leave it!"

"Listen. How long did it take you to start weakening after the monster came?"

He thought. "It would've been . . . three days. It was a week after the thing appeared, but three days before the forest started corrupting."

"Then we'll have plenty of time to come here and stop the corruption before you can be harmed."

"But it's not me I care about! It's the forest!"

"I know, but if you die, the forest stays corrupted!"

He stared at me for a moment, then sagged in defeat. "I've never gone over the hills before," he admit. "Is it dangerous?"

"No no, perfectly safe. There's a village there with nice people who'll take good care of us. Just one problem."

"What?"

"They all believe in this mad religion," the Guide finished for me. I supposed that answering questions was such an important thing to him that it didn't matter when they were directed at someone else. "And they think that their God will save them from the corruption."

The Dryad frowned. "So they do nothing to save their own lives and wait for God to deliver them from the plague?"

"Well put," said the Guide with a smile. "And yes."

"That's completely mad! . . . But also understandable."

"How?"

"Well, if they've been brought up to believe in an omnipotent being with almighty power, they would expect it to help them in a moment of need."

The Guide seemed unable to respond, so I did for him. "I suppose, apart from the path of enlightenment bit." The Dryad frowned. "Don't worry, we'll tell you all about it once we get there."

**An Interlude**

It was strange.

Mum wasn't making meals for me or anything like that, when she used to if I insisted she didn't. I would have to eat out at the restaurant and sneak into my bedroom window at night.

It'd only been happening for a day, but it was still taking some getting used to.

I was a stranger in my own home.

It was funny.

A few days ago I was thinking of dad as my knight in shining armour, come to rescue me from the religion and my religion-obsessed mum.

Now I'd be surprised if mum even noticed me, and dad seemed a far-off dream.

Thanks to Zelda68 and the Guide . . . they'd given me a harsh dose of reality when I was least expecting it.

Not that they had meant to.

Or that I wasn't thankful they'd come.

If they hadn't come, we might all be dead by now.

Without realising it, they'd saved my life.

And made me see the truth.

Dad was banished, likely dead.

That was the truth.

All of a sudden, I was dragged out of my thoughts by a knock on the bedroom window. Nervously, I got to my feet and peered out.

I found myself face-to-face with Zelda68, the Guide and a Dryad.

"Hello!" said the Dryad brightly. "You have a lovely house!"

"We've been having trouble explaining to him why some of the houses are made of wood and some stone." explained the Guide.

"Sorry I have to ask, but can you put us up for the night?" asked Zelda68. "Not enough money for a hotel." she jerked her thumb towards the hilt of a shining silver sword over her shoulder. "And another thing, about what you said about zombies. See, we've had five run-ins with them tonight."

8


	9. Terrible Secrets

Sarita is so kind to us.

We sleep on the floor, but I don't mind. The Guide might, but the Dryad seems to find it almost comfortable. I suppose he's been sleeping in tree hollows his entire life, however long that may have been.

In fact, he seems to look at the bed with hatred. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that it's made of wood, in his own words, "of a tree that did not give it willingly".

The Guide is fast asleep, as is Sarita. The Dryad is awake, but barely.

I can't sleep.

I just can't.

I've been made to remember things that I'd rather had stayed in the past.

The Eye of Cthulhu . . .

. . . Everything.

After facing the eye, I had nightmares for the next year.

In fact, I can't recount a day since I was born in Terraria before peacetime when I had a peaceful night's sleep.

I just know that if I sleep, I'll have nightmares. And then I might have as well not slept at all.

But I haven't slept since we left the floating island . . .

Maybe it's to do with being faced with the corruption again . . .

How does the Guide do it? He's been confronted with almost as much as me, but he's beside me now, sound asleep. Not twitching or sweating or screaming.

Like I know I would be.

I try to think about something else, so I turn to Sarita. She is sound asleep on her bed, facing the wall.

Or is she asleep? She is facing the wall, after all. All I can see is her hair. Her shockingly red hair . . .

She didn't get that from her mother, so she must've her dad.

Where is her dad?

I've never seen him, she's never mentioned him . . .

Is he dead?

Maybe he was sent into the corruption, and that's why she doubts. Maybe . . . maybe anything, for all I know. Or maybe he was the one who taught her to doubt, her mother certainly didn't.

Who was he?

I look around and notice multiple swords and other weapons mounted on the walls. Maybe he was a swordsman, the weapons are hardly hers, and I doubt her mother was into sparring.

Why didn't I ever think of this before?

I never. I just thought of her as Sarita, the nice girl. Sarita, the doubter who didn't doubt me. Sarita, whose mother was so devoted to God . . . who would knowingly send her daughter up a corrupted hill just because she spoke out . . .

Her mother would hardly get on with her father if he was a rebel, would she? But then again . . . maybe he wasn't. What do I know?

All thoughts are banished from my head when someone knocks on the door. Sarita turns around, completely awake, and the Guide and the Dryad let out identical confused moans.

"Who's in there?" asks a familiar voice from outside. "Sarita, who's with you?"

"Uh – no one!" replies Sarita, panicking.

But the door opens and Sarita's mother appears in the doorway, holding a young baby that is fast asleep. "Wh- . . . what are you all doing here?" she asks. "You shouldn't be in here! Sarita, why didn't you tell me we had visitors?"

"Mum, it's fine! And I could hardly tell you, could I? You haven't been speaking to me!"

"Hello!" says the Dryad brightly. "I'm the dryad of the woods over the hill. What's your name? Do you have a name?"

Sarita's mother seemed unable to speak, so Sarita did for her. "This is my mother, Christina, and my half-sister, Amethyst."

"Amethyst?" I asked. "Like the gemstone? I had plenty of it at home . . . too much of it, really. I made a phaseblade out of every type of gemstone."

"Really? It's pretty rare here."

"Same in Terraria," explained the Guide. "She just dug and dug and dug until there was nothing left to dig out."

We turned to Christina, who was staring at me like I had grown two heads. I stood up. "Sorry for coming here without letting you know, we had nowhere else to stay and the Guide insisted we get some sleep, so we came here."

". . . I . . . we . . . we've been sent a message -" Sarita looked close to rolling her eyes. "From the mayor. He wants you to come over. Said he'd been thinking all night about something you'd told him, Zelda -"

"Zelda68."

"Sorry, Zelda68, and he wanted to meet you, Dryad."

"How nice of him!" said the Dryad, smiling. "Everyone here is so nice!"

"What about me?" asked the Guide.

"He wanted all of you to come. Including you and me, Sarita. And Amethyst."

Sarita raised her eyebrows. "Why us?"

"I . . . don't know."

"Better get going, then." I said, stretching.

"But we haven't had any sleep!" the Guide complained.

"You've had a few hours, the sun's almost up."

"Have you had _any_?" the Guide said with a frown, studying the bags under my eyes. "You didn't sleep last night either, did you?"

"I'll be fine, let's go. You okay, Dryad?" The Dryad seemed to be in deep thought.

"I just thought of a name!" he announced, smiling.

"Oh, cool! What is it?"

"Leaf!"

". . . Leaf? I . . . that's a really good one!"

"Thank you!"

I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at the Dryad. Or rather, Leaf. He hadn't been able to stop smiling since we entered the village. I supposed it might be that he had never seen people before and wanted to make a good impression.

We all set off to the mayor's house, Leaf raising a few eyebrows as he introduced himself to everybody he could see. The Guide couldn't stop yawning, and Sarita the same. I saw her look down at her nightgown with contempt.

"Second time you've been forced here in your nightgown?" I asked with a grin that she returned.

"Yeah, and last time things didn't work out that well." I laughed, but Sarita's mother hurried us forward. She had a determined look about her and seemed to think it an honour to be summoned by such a great man.

He might as well be God, I suppose. Closest she'll ever get to either of them.

After a few minutes, we reached the mayor's house. Sarita's mother paused to admire the building.

"She can be so dramatic . . ." Sarita whispered. "You say that the mayor is actually nice?"

"Nice, but at first will pretend not to be. Actually, he's a bit of an atheist himself."

Sarita raised her eyebrows as we entered the building, and I caught up with the Guide and Leaf. Leaf's smile disappeared as we entered the reception and all of us, even me, paused to admire the carvings on the walls. The mayor sat in his usual seat with his fingers in a steeple, as he had when I first met him. Though, I suppose, it had only been a day.

It felt so much longer . . .

How did I survive in Terraria for a year of corruption? A day feels like weeks here . . .

The mayor didn't say anything, and I looked at the others to see Christina dragging her daughter into a bow that left young Amethyst almost upside-down. Leaf looked unsure to bow or not, and the Guide was trying not to smile. I turned back to the mayor to see him desperately trying not to laugh. I found myself grinning, and the Guide making odd muffled snorts with his mouth closed.

The mayor stood up and walked toward us, stopping in-front of Leaf and smiling kindly. "You are the dryad." he said as I concluded that he liked talking in question-statements.

"Hello, sir. I'm Leaf!" the mayor went to shake Leaf's hand to find it corrupted, and shook the other. Leaf winced slightly, but the mayor cast him a sympathetic look.

"I didn't realise dryads had names." he said in a bid to change the subject.

"They don't normally. It was Zelda68's idea, but I chose the name."

"Leaf . . . that's a very original and lovely name." said the mayor with something close to a smirk. He turned to me and we shook hands firmly. "Zelda68. All well?"

"Yes. Leaf gave me some purification powder and we purified his forest, so the hills around the village will be soon. Maybe even tomorrow."

"Excellent, excellent! This is all going rather faster than Terraria, don't you think?"

"Hopefully. Let's hope this isn't a false start."

"I don't think it is. After all, in Terraria you started without any mining or sword skills, now you're a hero already." he said, quoting my thoughts on the floating island. He turned to the Guide.

"Of course, you're a big part of this as well!" he said, shaking hands with the Guide as he had with me. "How was the library?"

"Absolutely amazing! Actually, I was wondering if you'd let me duplicate some of the books."

"When all this is over, I'll give you the whole library!" The Guide was speechless, and his face resembled that of a startled fish. The mayor chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, moving towards the still bowing Christina and Sarita.

Sarita had her head up, although her mother was holding her down by the nightgown, and looked at the mayor with a pleading expression. The mayor held back a chuckle at the sight of the newborn baby, confused as to why the world had turned upside-down. He seemed at a loss for words, between "Don't be so formal!", "Your baby . . ." and "Arise, my faithful servant.". He decided on the former.

"No need to be so formal, honestly." he said with a small smile that showed wisdom and false supremacy.

Christina stood up and seemed too shocked to brush the hair out of her face. ". . . th-thank you, sir!"

"That's quite alright." Amethyst groped at the air, surprised to find her mother there. The mayor smiled. "I think your baby is hungry. What's her name? Or his? It's a girl, isn't it?"

". . . Amethyst, sir. She's three months old."

"Amethyst? What a lovely name. Who's the father?"

The colour drained from Christina's face and she seemed unable to answer.

". . . mum's partner. They're getting married in a month or so." explained Sarita. "I hope you don't find it immoral, sir, but . . ."

"We're to be married as soon as possible, sir."

"Soon as possible?" asked the mayor. "Good. Not that I'd mind if you weren't, but I suppose . . . if you want, I could skip the queue for you at the church."

"Thank you, sir! May I ask why you would do us such a favour?"

"We live in dark times. Who knows what could happen to either one of you in a month, if you'll forgive my . . . well, nothing will happen if we're lucky with Zelda68 here!"

Christina turned to me. I could practically hear her brain working . . . she would've been thinking _"Hang on – he believes that Zelda68 is a hero . . . so he doesn't think that God will save us? I thought he would be even more insistent on it, being the mayor . . . so I suppose that means that Zelda68 really is a hero? So . . . was she sent by God? Or was she . . ."_

The mayor turned to Sarita as Christina seemed speechless again. "And you must be the famous Sarita!" Christina turned to them as if she had never heard her daughter's name before. "I hear you've been kind enough to help Zelda68 find her way in the village, is that right?"

"Yes," she said, putting on an unsure face. ". . . sir?"

"No need for "sir"s, no. Follow me." Christina and the Guide lagged behind slightly, still in shock about what the mayor had said to them, but Leaf remained glued to my side, still fascinated by the carvings.

The mayor lead us all down the same corridor that he had me when I had first visited. This time I paid more attention to the carvings, and found myself staring at one in which a figure in a cloak overlooked the village from between the trees on the hills. "Who's this?" I asked the mayor, who fell into step beside me.

"Ah," he said with a small smile. "That's supposed to be you, Leaf. You're in a cloak here because no one knew what you looked like. And that there," he said, indicating towards the hill in the background of the image that seemed to be on fire. "Is the battle for the hill 300 years ago. Some soldiers saw a figure on the hill, as did I, so here you are."

Leaf stared at the carving, running his fingers over the grooves. "I . . . remember. The hill was . . . full of death . . . I could sense it . . . the people were fighting again. So I went to look, to see what was going on, but all I could see was the fire and the death . . . so I went home . . . and tried not to think about it." he turned to the mayor. "But . . . you're not 300, are you?"

The mayor laughed. "No, no." and he repeated the same story that he relayed to me. Christina seemed shocked at the way he phrased the story, but seemed unable to convey her surprise in anything other than a startled squeal that turned heads and made her blush.

We continued down the corridor until we reached the point where the mayor started seeing Terraria, and he explained it. "Now, I think that you, Sarita and Christina, might have been in the dark about how it was that Zelda68 ended up here. I've been brought up to date – spent all of today, or yesterday, carving. Take a look around if you want, I'm sure the Guide will explain what is happening in the carvings, Zelda68, come with me."

Confused, I followed the mayor into a small room that lead off the long corridor. The walls of the room were covered with carvings of what I assumed was another battle for the hill between the previous residents of the village.

I realised that this he was most likely going to ask about my battle with the Eye of Cthulhu, and braced myself.

I almost wanted him to ask . . .

But I didn't want anyone to know . . .

A battle raged silently inside me, trying to decide what I wanted or was going to say, but it all ended with two white flags when the mayor turned to me. "Listen," he said, sounding concerned. "I've been thinking about what you said . . ." This was it . . . "But now isn't time for that." I looked up at him, startled.

"What is it, then?" I asked with a small frown, feeling slightly relieved.

"Zombies have been sighted in the vicinity of the village. Normally they're a rarity, but now they're practically swarming."

"I know," I said, indicating towards the smears of blood on my clothes. "Most of them were children . . . Path of enlightenment?"

"Yes. I can't save all of them, some are sent right away. But . . . was one of them . . . a man? With red hair?"

I frowned. "No. But do you mean Sarita's father? She hasn't told us anything about him, what was his story?"

"Well, he was a swordsman. One of the best. But I believe Sarita got her sense of humour and her religious beliefs from him. Or at least, she didn't her mother. When he made it public that he was an atheist, he was cast out by the villagers. It was a shame, but I couldn't stop it. I thought he must be dead."

"I doubt it. If he's that good a swordsman, he's probably still alive."

"Ah, but is he good enough a swordsman to survive on the edge of the corruption? You are the best swordsman that has ever existed if you managed to save Terraria. You were created to do exactly that, but no one here was, not him."

"I'm not that good. I've gone through more than a few healing potions in the last few years, believe me."

"I know. But I have seen you in action, Zelda68. When you're in the midst of battle, nothing can stop you."

I paused, unable to respond. "So . . . you've been brought up to date?" I asked, in a desperate bid to change the subject. "From the floating island to the forest?"

"To here." he said sincerely. "And before."

My stomach turns to lead in my gut. ". . . How far before?"

"Since the Eye of Cthulhu." I stared at him, uncomprehending.

"So . . . you know?"

"I do."

A thought struck me like lightning. "So you recorded it in the walls?"

"Yes."

"But . . . the others are heading there!"

"Yes."

". . . I've got to stop them!"

He looked unimpressed. "You'll have to tell them sometime, Zelda68. They need to know the truth, if you're all going to survive."

" . . . all . . . I will tell them all, it's just . . . I want to be the one to tell them."

"Do it while you can. Before you face the . . . corrupted human."

I nod stiffly and run to the others. I hear the mayor sigh . . .

**An Interlude**

". . . and this is when she was almost killed by a giant Eater of Souls. She never told me about that."

"And I suppose you'll never forgive her for it, either?" Sarita asked, looking tired. "Guide, you've got her in trouble for not telling you she nearly died about ten times, don't forget how traumatic this would've been for her. Maybe you should keep quiet about it."

"Ha!" he said with a smirk. "As if I'd miss this!"

Sarita sighed and turned to her mother and sister, who were a few steps behind her. "You okay, mum?"

". . . I . . . she really is a hero . . . to come out of all this victorious."

"I know, she's literally been to hell and back."

Her mother frowned at her. "How literally?"

"She's been to hell." her mother gasped. "Apparently it's real, and deep in the earth, but she, in her own words, "didn't see any souls or bodies"."

"But . . . there must be. She mustn't have seen it all."

Sarita sighed again and headed back towards the Guide. "Sure, mum. Of course."

"You're just like your father." Christina said, stopping her in her tracks. Sarita turned around. Her mother hadn't mentioned her father since he left . . .

"Maybe I am," she said with a small frown. "But who says that's a bad thing?"

"Not me."

Sarita gaped at her mother until she was distracted by Zelda68 dashing past her, down the corridor that seemed to have no end.

"Wha – hey! Zelda68!" called the Guide, but she didn't stop. The Guide groaned and started after her. "What is it? Come back!"

6


	10. The Eye of Cthulhu

I ran past them, not caring that the Guide was shouting for me.

I was faster.

I could get there.

I could . . . cover it up.

He wouldn't notice, he'd be too busy making fun of me for almost dying without telling him.

The Guide . . . he was so full of himself, didn't he understand how much pain I'd gone through? I supposed I'd never shown him my scars . . . but that was because most of them were on my chest.

I reached the many carvings depicting my battle with the Eye of Cthulhu and found the one I wanted crammed between two others. It took up so little space, but it was so important . . .

Without it I wouldn't be who I am now.

But how was I going to cover it up? The Guide wasn't far behind me . . .

I reached into my pouch and pulled out the invisibility potion that I had mixed the previous night and splashed the contents almost carelessly over the carving, the Guide suddenly at my side.

"What is it? Why did you use the invisibility potion on that carving?"

"Uh . . ." I began, blushing slightly. "In that one . . . you can . . . see something. My shirt sort of ripped."

"Oh," said the Guide, blushing but frowning. "But why is your shirt fine in that one?" he asked, indicating to the next carving.

"I . . . uh . . . I'm wearing my jacket in that one."

"No you're not. I can see your shirt, and it's fine."

I couldn't respond, but continued to stammer and blush when I noticed something.

In the corner of my eye . . .

The shadows at the end of the corridor were moving . . .

Almost as if they were alive . . . no . . .

. . . not here . . .

Not the Guide . . .

"NO!" I screamed, turning to see the shadows curling around a figure in a cloak. I draw my sword, lunging at the figure . . .

. . . and it disappears.

"What is it?" asked the Guide, taking his gun off his back. "Can you sense something? What?"

"You . . . didn't see it?" I asked, breathless.

"See what?"

I stared at him.

Why hadn't he seen it? It had been there, clear as day, and he had been staring right at it . . .

"N-nothing." I say, unable to sheathe my sword.

"You're white as a sheet!" the Guide exclaimed, concerned. "What did you see?"

"I . . . nothing. I'm just . . . just a bit paranoid, you know."

"You're not! For god's sake, you're shaking! I've never seen you this scared! What did you see?"

I leaned against the wall, suddenly tired, and found it hard to support my own weight, I sunk to the floor.

"Zelda68!" the Guide cried, dropping to the floor beside me. "Are you alright?"

Sarita appeared beside me, Christina rushing toward us.

". . . no . . . I'm fine . . . really . . ."

"No, you're not!" the Guide cried, trying to stop my head from drooping.

"What happened?" Sarita asked, picking my sword off the floor.

"I don't know, she saw something and then she dropped to the floor! Zelda68, speak to me!"

"Don't . . . I'm fine . . . just thirsty . . . just . . . tired . . ."

I found it impossible to focus on the others, or even to think clearly. My body started aching all over, and then went numb. The Guide trying to hold my head up made my neck ache, made me want to tell him too stop . . .

Why couldn't I? _Stop, Guide . . ._ I tried to speak, but the words seemed to echo in my mind.

Something was wrong . . .

This had happened before . . .

I knew this feeling . . .

Was it . . .

No . . .

The first time I had met . . .

Who?

"P- . . . poison!" I managed. "Stinger . . . wasp . . . c-cure . . . on wall . . . Nurse . . ."

Sarita rushed to the carving on the wall in which I had been stung with poison by a giant wasp in the jungle and had been saved by the Nurse.

It was so hard to concentrate . . .

I'd . . . too much had happened . . .

The last few days caught up to me and I blacked out.

**An Interlude**

"Zelda68? Zelda68!" I called as Sarita rushed away from us, down the corridor.

For god's sake, what had happened?

Where was the mayor? He had been there a second ago . . . and where was Leaf?

Christina was next to me, Amethyst reaching out to Zelda68, unsure what had happened to her new friend.

"Here it is!" called the mayor triumphantly. Sarita rushed towards him. "The cure  
>is . . ."<p>

"What?"

". . . Daybloom stems, an acorn, purification powder and moonglow seeds."

"Do we have any of that!"

"Purification powder here!" I called, grabbing the pouch off Zelda68's belt. "And a few acorns and a daybloom, but no moonglow seeds!" I pulled the ingredients out of her pouch and handed them to Christina, who rushed over to the mayor.

"I think I have some moonglow seeds in the storeroom! Wait here!" The mayor rushed away with speed belying his age, clutching the items with him.

I turned to Zelda68. Her face was losing all colour, and I checked for a pulse.

There wasn't one.

I faced her, tears welling up in my eyes.

She couldn't be dead.

Not after . . .

Everything . . .

Tears ran down my face and I did nothing to stop them. My breath came out ragged but I didn't sob.

Because she couldn't be dead.

She couldn't.

But she was.

Wasn't she?

She couldn't be.

She was.

She couldn't, she was, she couldn't, she was . . .

She wasn't dead . . . she really wasn't!

I could see her eyes moving back and forth in their sockets, as if she was having a dream . . . a bad dream. A nightmare. A very bad nightmare . . .

Her head rolled back and forth and she muttered to herself. Her mutterings became moans and then shouts and she began to twitch all over.

What was she seeing?

She was in pain . . .

"N-no . . . no . . ." I heard her mutter. Her voice raised higher and higher until she was practically screaming.

She'd had this nightmare before, I'd heard her screaming . . . every night after she fought the Eye of Cthulhu . . .

Oh no . . .

She wanted to forget it, I know she did . . . but she just couldn't.

Something had happened during that battle, something she didn't want me to know . . . something painful . . . what was it? Had the eye tortured her? What had happened? She said that a part of her had died in that battle . . . I understood that. But what could possibly have happened to make her lose the childish part of her?

I remember . . . before the battle with the Eye . . . she would smirk and cross her arms . . . she would make me laugh . . . but that hardly ever happened anymore. That part of her used to be so large that it was hard to see the hero on the outside of it . . . but now she was normally so . . . so angry. Like something was eating away at her . . .

Maybe it was . . .

I frowned. How could she be alive? I really wanted her to be, but . . . there was no pulse before. How could her heart just start beating again?

Unable to banish these thoughts from my mind, I leaned over and checked for a pulse again . . .

I froze.

There wasn't one.

**X X X**

Nothing was clear . . . everything was wrong . . . what was happening?

Nothing would come into focus, everything was wrong . . .

What had happened?

Everything was a blur, but somehow I knew . . .

I was there . . .

In the battle . . .

It wouldn't leave me alone . . .

_ The Eye . . ._

_ It was almost dead. I was showered in blood, both the Eye's and my own, but I couldn't stop. Not while the Eye of Cthulhu was still alive . . ._

_ But I was dead._

_ Or very nearly._

_ Dying, I suppose._

_ I was too weak to stand, my legs refused to work . . ._

_ And I was in pain._

_ Excruciating pain._

_ How could I stand it?_

_ Somehow, I could. Somehow, I knew that I was going to live._

_ Or rather, Terraria was. But Terraria's victory was mine. It meant that I had done what I meant to . . . It meant that I had won._

_ Even if I died, I would take the Eye with me._

_ I would rid the world of the corruption._

_ Even if it killed me._

_ In fact, I hoped it would._

_ Heroes aren't needed during peacetime._

_ Perhaps it was time I retired . . ._

_ The Eye was on the ground in-front of me, bleeding from many deep gashes. But even then, facing it's own destruction, it thought it could win. It desperately tried to escape from me. To fight. To send it's minions flying at me . . . but even they wouldn't serve it now. They knew it was going to die._

_ It was the end._

_ For it and for me._

_ But not for Terraria._

_ Not for my friends._

_ Not for the Guide._

_ That was what mattered._

_ That was all that mattered._

_ That I fulfilled my role as hero._

_ And then I rested._

_ Was death like sleep?_

_ Was it quick and painless?_

_ I supposed I would find out . . ._

_ I gathered all of the strength I had left and limped towards the Eye. I coughed blood, but the pain searing every inch of me stopped me from caring. I reached over my shoulder and pulled out the Starfury. Not my best sword, and it had this nasty habit of making stars fall to Earth, but my favourite was lying a few inches away . . ._

_ Too far away . . ._

_ I raised the sword and plunged it into the Eye's pupil. It let out an unearthly scream and began to fall apart. The corruption around us began to disappear . . ._

_ The last corruption in Terraria, and it was gone . . ._

_ Warm blood washed over my hands and I fell, using the sword to support me . . ._

_ . . . and I smiled._

_ Facing death . . . I smiled. Because, in this final moment, I was who I was supposed to be._

_ I was a hero._

_ Zelda68, Hero of Terraria._

_ It felt good._

_ I was finally me._

_ The pain disappeared and everything turned to black . . ._

_ An eternity of sleep and darkness and rest passed . . ._

_ . . . and I woke up five minutes later._

_ The impossible had happened._

_ I was alive . . . but was I? I had no need to breathe, and my heart was still in my chest . . ._

_ Luck had once again worked in my favour . . ._

_ No, it hadn't._

_ I was alive._

_ I wanted to be dead._

_ I wanted rest . . ._

_ But I couldn't have it._

_ I had been sent back . . ._

_ But I didn't want to . . ._

_ I wasn't a hero anymore._

_ I wasn't me._

_ I wasn't even human._

_ I was a zombie without bloodlust. A zombie with emotions . . ._

_ I wasn't even alive . . ._

_ I was dead . . ._

_ But I couldn't rest . . ._

_ ". . . n-no . . . no . . . no . . . no . . . no . . . NO! . . . NO! NO!"_

_ "She's here!" called a voice from somewhere above me. "With the eye! She killed it! She did it! She's alive!"_

_ I knew that voice . . . that was the Guide . . ._

_ I looked around and saw him climbing down one of the steep hills that bordered what was once the last place of corruption in Terraria. He was joined by . . . everyone  
>else . . . they were all happy . . . they were all smiling . . .<em>

_ . . . that was what I wanted . . ._

_ . . . but I didn't want to see it . . ._

5


	11. Death

I awoke from the nightmare with something disgusting being forced down my throat. I gagged and coughed as the potion was taken away from me.

It tasted familiar . . .

Was it . . . a healing potion? It was like the disgusting healing potion that the Nurse had given me when I first met her after nearly dying in the jungle.

I reached down to my leg . . .

It hurt . . .

I pulled out a small feathered dart that, I suddenly felt sure, had injected me with poison.

Could poison even work on me?

I supposed it was possible. I could cry, I could eat, I felt pain - though it was numb . . . disconnected somehow . . .

I was . . . dead . . .

No.

No, I wasn't.

But I remembered it, even though I didn't want to.

My heart was still in my chest, like it had been since I fought the Eye of Cthulhu.

I wish I could remember . . .

What it felt like to breathe . . . I wished I had treasured it when I could.

But back then I lived in the moment . . .

Now I craved for the past . . .

I had to tell someone.

I had to.

I would tell the Guide, as soon as we were alone.

Today.

As the world came into focus again, I realised that I was on the ground with Sarita, Christina, the mayor and the Guide surrounding me.

The Guide was staring at me as if I was impossible . . .

. . . As if I should be dead.

Oh no . . . he hadn't figured it out . . .

The Guide reached for the vein on my neck and I batted his hand away.

"You . . ." the Guide began, but couldn't finish. I stood up, ignoring all of the hands trying to help me up. I slowly backed away from the Guide.

Please . . . I wanted to be the one to tell him . . .

"You . . .you're . . .dead. How . . .?"

Tears welled up in my eyes and I ran.

I ran through the village.

I ran as far as I could . . . right to the barrier of sunflowers . . .

And I collapsed in tears.

I didn't sob, I didn't need air.

I just cried.

I knew the Guide wouldn't follow me, he was in shock.

I never wanted him to know . . .

But now he did.

It wasn't fair . . .

I stared into the corruption a few yards away.

Was that why I was alive? Had I been brought back to save this place? Or was I just another person dead in the corruption, turned into a zombie?

Had the evil one brought me back to play with me?

Who was the evil one?

How did I know her?

All I knew about her was that I knew her . . .

. . . And that I had to stop her.

But first, I had to stop these tears . . .

. . . Which was impossible.

The Guide knew . . .

After he knew, I'd be just another zombie.

I wouldn't be special . . .

Was I ever special?

**An Interlude**

I started running after Zelda68, but the mayor stopped me. I tried to pull out of his grasp, but his fist seemed to be made of iron.

"Let her go," the mayor said. "She needs to be alone right now."

"What . . ." Sarita began, finding her voice. "What did you mean there wasn't a pulse, Guide? She was alive. How else could she run off? She's hardly a zombie."

"She . . . there was no pulse. Even when she started dreaming. There was no pulse . . . but how . . ."

"She's dead," the mayor said simply. "She has been since she fought the Eye of Cthulhu. She died, but the remaining corruption brought her back. But before it could get rid of her emotions and turn her into a zombie, the corruption perished."

I stared at him.

It wasn't true . . .

No . . .

She was Zelda68 . . . _my_ Zelda68 . . . she wasn't just . . . a zombie . . .

And if she was, why didn't she tell me?

"She would've told me!" I retorted simply. "I'm her Guide! She would've told me!"

The mayor sighed and covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. "She wanted to. She really wanted to, but she couldn't. It was too painful for her. She didn't want to think about the Eye, and I think she managed to convince herself that it hadn't happened."

". . . No!" I cried desperately. "Why would she do that?"

"She was worried, I think, that if she told you . . . she'd . . . just be a zombie. She was worried that she wouldn't be Zelda68, Hero of Terraria, she'd be Zelda68, the zombie girl."

"But she wouldn't! Even if . . . even if she is, she'd still be my friend! She wouldn't think that of me, or any of the others!"

"Please, Guide, you must understand." the mayor said, a stern note in his voice. "This was so painful for her, she honestly didn't want to think about it. Not telling anyone was eating away at her, but she told me that she wanted to tell you herself. As soon as you were alone. And then she sees everything she wants to forget, and when she wakes up you've already figured it out. She's dealing with a lot. A LOT."

I stared at him . . . into those wise old eyes . . . and I knew he hadn't gone senile. Not very, anyway. He was telling the truth. Zelda68 . . . my Zelda68 . . . my friend . . . she was dead . . . more then a part of her had died in that battle.

"She . . . she should've told me . . ."

"Look at the wall."

I turned to the carving of the battle with the Eye of Cthulhu, Sarita and Christina already staring at it. The invisibility potion had worn off, and I was faced with a picture squeezed between two others.

Zelda68 limping towards the wounded Eye . . .

Stabbing it right in the pupil . . .

And falling, broken . . .

Then smiling. Smiling in the face of death . . . even in the stone, her fulfilled look was clear . . . she had done what she had set out to do . . . she was who she was meant to be.

She was a hero.

But she lay there, eyes open but not seeing . . . and she woke up.

She looked terrified . . . she shouted . . .

And I found her.

I remember us all congratulating her, the Nurse treating her wounds . . . I remember thinking that it was amazing she was alive with so many deep wounds . . .

But she wasn't . . .

For the last two years, she had held a secret so terrible . . . so distressing . . . that even keeping it killed her . . .

That childish part of her . . .

. . . but maybe . . . now that I knew . . . could that part of her come back?

_No._ responded Zelda68 in my mind. _It is dead. I can't bring it back, no matter how hard I want to, and you have no idea how much I want to._

That was what she would say, I knew it . . . it she could bring herself to talk to me at all . . .

She . . . felt disgusted with herself for not telling me.

She just wanted to rush into the corruption and die. Properly.

How did I know that? . . . I know her too well. Waaaaaaay too well.

. . . Did she know me that well? If she thought that I would think those things of her . . . just because of the Eye . . . that stupid Eye . . .

If she thought that, did she know me at all?

She was my friend, no matter what happened. I would remain her Guide. She was my purpose. I was nothing compared to her. Her words flashed in my mind . . .

_You are your own person, and therefore just as important as me. Remember that._

I said I would . . . but it was so hard.

How could I pretend to be as important as the Hero of Terraria?

But I suppose . . . I was . . . wasn't I?

She'd be dead without me . . .

But she was dead . . .

So many sayings I had used in her favour were suddenly meaningless now that I knew she was dead. All of the things she hadn't told me about, all the times she had nearly died, I couldn't hold them against her anymore. Not after this . . .

I didn't know what it was like.

What it was like to die . . . or to come so close to it. My life had never been in real danger . . . because she was there. She was there to protect me. Me, all of my friends and the whole world. A lot rested on her shoulders, and she had to deal with it on her own. She couldn't worry about herself . . . she was too busy worrying about everything else.

All of a sudden, I felt terrible for exploding at her the other night. I remember the shocked look on her face, and thinking that she was so full of herself . . .

She was the exact opposite.

She couldn't help being a hero, no matter how hard she tried.

Why hadn't I understood that?

I did now.

Now I knew everything.

. . . but was that a good thing?

"Guide?" asked a voice from behind me. I jumped and found myself face-to-face with Leaf. Where had he been? "I just went to look around. Too much blood here for me. I know it's Zelda68's story, and I honestly can't believe she lived though all of this."

". . . She didn't."

** X X X**

They knew . . . all of them, they knew . . .

Was that a bad thing?

I wanted them to know . . . but I wanted to be the one to tell them, and now they knew . . .

My mind had been going in this loop for ages and ages, I'd been unable to find an end to it . . . I had put myself in a loop and I couldn't get out of it . . . not on my own . . .

In an attempt to distract myself, I looked up. The tears blurred my vision, but it was impossible not to notice that the sun was out. I blinked in the sudden brightness, and looked out into the corruption before me. It was inches from my head, and I knew that as soon as I lay a foot over the edge Eater of Souls would start appearing to try and . . . eat me, I suppose.

What did they want, anyway?

It had never occurred to me until now . . . what exactly were they?

The two teeth-marks in my sides from almost being swallowed by one told me, simply, that they hated me and wanted to kill me.

But why?

I was shocked to find myself thinking it, but confronted myself and kept thinking. Were they simply corruption monsters, or were they something like . . . corrupted flies? I laughed at the thought, though the tears didn't stop coming.

I lay on the ground, looking up at the sky, and let my mind take me wherever it wanted. How did Eater of Souls fly? They didn't have wings . . . did they . . . float? Of course they did . . .

I continued thinking like this for a minute before a butterfly settled on my nose. I lay completely still, hoping it would stay . . . but it seemed fascinated by . . . the corruption?

It flew off my nose and beyond the sunflower . . . I reached out to stop it, but that only sped it up . . . it flew into the death and disease . . . and died on contact with the foul air of the corruption.

No! That wasn't fair!

Who cares how Eater of Souls fly or devourers dug through stone, it was my job to put an end to those creatures! I was a hero!

I was a hero . . .

Who cares if I'm dead, I'm still a hero!

Although I found myself suddenly confident, the admitting that I was no more than a . . . zombie . . . no more than a zombie . . . I collapsed to the floor, once again crying. I tried to sob, to gasp for air . . .

But my lungs refused to move.

". . . Zelda68?" came a soft voice from behind me. I didn't move, but continued to clutch my knees. I knew who it was . . .

It was exactly who I needed right now.

. . . So why wasn't I welcoming him?

"Listen . . . I understand if you want to be alone right now. I'll go if you say so."

"You . . . don't know . . . what's happening to me."

"Yes, I do."

"What then? Do you know me that well, Guide?"

"Yes. Zelda68, I've known you for four years. I know everything there is to know about you . . . or, at least, I thought I did."

I turned to him and he seemed shocked to see the amount of tears running down my face. "Don't look so surprised. No breath. No crying. Just tears."

He stared at me, concerned. "There's no need to be like this. You've been wanting to get this off your chest for two years. I know I found out the wrong way, just when you had relived something you never wanted to think about again. Just when you had decided to tell me yourself . . . but honestly, could you have stood there and told me everything?"

I didn't say anything, but continued to stare at him. He knew me too well . . . but even he couldn't know what I was going through.

"I can't understand what you're going through," the Guide said, as if he was reading my mind. "I don't know what it feels like to die, or even to be in mortal peril. You've always been there for me when I needed you. But why didn't you let me be there for _you_?"

". . . I don't know . . . I couldn't . . . couldn't face it . . . couldn't face myself . . . still can't."

"I know, but now you're going to have to. You've been through worse than this, you can do it."

"I've been through worse?" I cried, the tears not stopping. "Worse than this? Worse than being forced to live half a life? Worse than death without rest? I'm no hero, the only time I ever was was just before I died. Now I'm no more than a zombie! And a pathetic zombie at that!"

"You're so much more than that. Zombies were human once, but now exist to kill. You have emotions. You're still you. You're Zelda68, Hero of Terraria, even though you're dead. Just as though you would be if I were standing over your tombstone, except you're alive."

"I'm not alive!"

"You are. You can walk, talk, eat, you have emotions and you are still the warrior you think you are no longer. Breathing is overrated, you're so, so alive."

I stared at him and a smile broke out on my face. "Breathing? Overrated? I beg to differ."

"You don't realise how precious anything is until it is taken away from you. Right now I'm breathing, my heart is still going, I'm digesting a plate of fish and I'm thinking quite clearly. You're very alive! You can do everything I can, even if the inner workings are different! You're still a hero!"

I forced myself into a sitting position and couldn't stop smiling. He was trying so hard to cheer me up, to make me pick up my sword again and not just waste away here . . . he was the only person I really knew in a village of strangers . . . he was my friend . . . my very best friend here. I didn't really know Sarita or the mayor, even though the mayor had known me since the first time I woke up . . . so had the Guide. The Guide was the only other person from Terraria here, the only person I had known from the beginning . . . and I was ignoring him, making him cheer me up instead of picking myself off the ground and doing it myself . . .

Without him I'd be dead.

I was as good as alive, he was right. I could think, eat . . . I could do everything I could when I was alive. Even though my heart and lungs refused to move, I was alive.

I was so, so alive . . .

I was a hero, and this place needed my help.

And so, for what wasn't the first and most certainly wouldn't be the last time the Guide reached out his hand to me. I stared at it for a second, the never-ending tears drying themselves . . .

I took his hand.

He lifted me off the ground and we walked, hand in hand back to the mayor's house. Neither of us said anything, but that was only because we couldn't think of anything to say. For one moment, everything was perfect.

Too perfect . . . so perfect that I expected a monster to lunge at me every time I rounded a corner. I almost jumped out of my skin when a merchant dropped a heavy load. The Guide only laughed and released my hand.

He was still him . . . that was such a Guide-ish thing to do . . .

But was I still me?

I knew I wasn't the same Zelda68 that would make the Guide laugh when he was in the middle of his mushroom soup, I wasn't the same girl that had almost died for laughter when I caught the Guide shouting at a dictionary for ending or the same girl that wouldn't let the Guide off for weeks when he was wrong. I was . . . mature.

And, to be honest, I hated it.

That part of me was dead . . .

But so was the rest of me . . .

Maybe I had some catching up to do with myself.

As soon as the corruption was gone.

If I survived.

. . . But then again, how many times can a person die?

6


	12. Vincent the Madman

**An Interlude**

I thought I knew her.

I mean, I'd only known her for a few days, it felt like I'd known her for my entire life.

She made friends so easily . . . it was almost ridiculous.

Of course, she'd never realised it before if she'd noticed it at all. She said that she only knew seven other people, and given how well she knew Terrraia there weren't any more. She was quite amazing . . . so much rested on her shoulders but she kept the burden to herself.

But she had such a battle going on inside her . . . I supposed she was too worried about everybody else to care about herself.

From the stories the Guide had told me, she rivalled even my father for sword skills and sarcastic humour . . . but I hadn't seen her crack a single joke.

Something in that battle had changed her, and now I knew . . . that battle had been her end.

I wish I was as strong as her . . .

I wish I could use a sword like her . . .

I wish I was her.

But something told me that right now, she didn't wish she was herself . . .

Poor Zelda68 . . .

I had no idea what she was going to do . . .

It took her over a year to save Terraria from the corruption . . . would it take her this long here? Everything seemed to be moving so fast . . . but if it took as long as her homeland . . . I don't think I'd be able to do it . . . do what the Guide did and wait for her to come back, victorious or dying.

It'd been a few days since her secret had reached her friends, and not much had happened since then. The mayor had tried to convince her to take swordsmen with her because he thought that she needed help. She told him she didn't and, right now, was proving it.

She was taking on the best swordsmen of the village, one by one, and was winning.

She'd never even been in a duel before! Not with a human!

The mayor had made that clear before they took her on and I think they expected her to be a pushover . . .

They were far from right.

I had seen my father in a swordfight, and even he wasn't as good as her.

She was made for this.

She was an expert, even if she hadn't taken on a human being before.

She had one advantage to them, other than being a hero – she didn't have breath to be knocked out.

The swordsmen didn't know of course, they could hardly be expected to understand. Their reactions towards certain things was very predictable – Zombies: Kill. Heroes: Help. Young girls challenging them to duels: Laugh.

They had laughed at first, of course, but not for very long.

She was facing one of the last swordsmen, the others cheering him on. She grasped her sword with one hand – a feat for an 18-year-old girl. Even some of the best swordsmen used both hands.

Hmm . . . I suppose that our swordsmen aren't all they're cracked up to be . . . Dad used to be the only one with real skill, and now he was gone . . .

But who knows . . . he might be back soon . . .

Zelda68 had insisted on using real blades, not wooden ones, but so far she hadn't cut anybody. She would just hold the sword still in the place she could've slashed the man, and let him sweat. Some of them would ignore the fact that they would be dead in a real fight and took another swing at her, but she was just too good for them.

All of the swordsman wore delicately patterned cloaks, beneath which was either armour or clothing, depending on their skill. My father had worn gold-plated armour, unlike the others – even the best of the which wore silver.

The swordsman she was facing now was a black-haired, burly man named Vincent, who prided himself in being one of the best (if not _the_ best) swordsmen in the village. He held his sword and shield by his sides, waiting for Zelda68 to make a move. She stood opposite, sword in her right hand and shield in her left, holding her blade pointing the sky.

Vincent, I realised as I studied him, had been the swordsman who had spoken out when the harpey appeared. Although his bruises had been hidden by what I suspected was make-up, he had been the one who had been punched in the face by my stupid neighbour. Neither Zelda68 or Vincent moved, ignoring the many cries from the swordsmen who had been defeated, and continued waiting. Both of them were patient, but they couldn't wait  
>forever . . .<p>

Could they?

In ten minutes, some of the men had started playing games among themselves and the Guide was falling asleep. My eyes remained focused on the ring, as if I could will them to start with my mind . . .

The silence was broken by the sudden clashing of metal on metal, making the Guide jump up out of his thoughts with a startled "Wazzat?"

Zelda68 and Vincent had jumped at each-other, it was hard to tell which had moved first. Their swords clashed as they blocked, swung and parried over and over, but neither managed to score a hit. If I didn't know better, I'd say that this was a proper battle and not a practice duel . . .

Vincent was using every cheap move in the book, using his height and strength as an advantage. Zelda68 was just fast enough to dodge, sometimes she only managed to dodge by millimetres. This continued until Vincent slashed horizontally and she ducked underneath it, rolling behind him. He turned back and tried to slash at her throat, but she back-flipped with surprising ease and rolled out of the way when he tried to dive, sword raised, right at her.

Zelda68 hadn't even broken a sweat! . . . could she sweat? Can dead people sweat? She could cry, so I suppose . . .

These thoughts were banished from my head when Vincent took a swipe so hard that it badly dented her shield.

Why was he so determined?

He could kill her!

Why would he try to do that? I'd seen him around the village, he was a nice man. He was quiet and kept to himself, but would boast if you asked him about his training. He seemed smart, some would even refer to him as the "bookworm knight".

Zelda68 frowned, her shield arm numb. She was no doubt thinking the same thing as me . . . why would a man so calm go so mad all of a sudden?

All of a sudden, I knew without a doubt who had taken the first swing . . .

Vincent's long, curly ponytail had come loose and matted hair covered his face. He looked like a madman . . .

A madman with a sword . . .

**X X X**

What had happened to him?

He had been so calm a minute ago, now he slashed at me like a madman with the force of someone stuck against a wall with zombies closing in.

I ducked under his swing and jumped behind him, and he slashed backward and I had to backflip to avoid his shiny, sharp sword. We continued our dance until he lunged at me, sword raised, with a battle cry and I had to raise my shield . . . too late to dodge . . .

Who could just jump like that?

Besides him, obviously . . .

His sword hit my iron shield with such force that he left a dent, and my arm tingled and went numb. I fell to the ground. I raised my sword to tried and slash at him, but had to roll out of the way to avoid him.

The other swordsmen had stopped cheering him on and watched the battle intently, mesmerised. Out of the corner of my eye the Guide glared at Vincent like he would've the Eater of Worlds and Sarita seemed unable to move. Leaf . . .

Where was Leaf?

Why did he always disappear? I knew he didn't like swords, but I wanted him to see this . . .

I glanced at my shield to see it dented.

Dented! An iron shield! For god's sake, how could one man do that in one hit?

The mayor, who sat on a stool beside the defeated swordsmen, seemed to think the same thing as me. He stared at the swordfight with wide eyes, magnified by his glasses.

I dodged another swing and backed up, hoping to earn some ground, but doing this gave me a good look at Vincent . . .

He looked like a madman, his sword held in both hands, shield on the floor behind him and his hair almost covering his face . . . but his eyes . . .

They seemed almost . . . dead. They weren't the bright green they were when the fight had started, but seemed to have lost all colour.

I'd seen eyes like those before . . .

In the dead, unthinking, bloodthirsty eyes of every zombie . . .

Was he . . . possessed?

Was he dead?

What had happened to him?

He took a vertical swipe at me and his sword embedded itself in the ground . . .

I had won.

I held my sword to his throat, as if hoping he would consider himself defeated, but he only paused until he realised that I wasn't going to kill him . . .

From what I had heard, Vincent was all about honour.

No.

Vincent was all about honour, but this wasn't Vincent.

This was something else.

I should've noticed . . . the air around us was foul, tainted . . . full of death . . .

Vincent was dead.

His corpse was taking swings at me . . . he was being controlled.

But by what?

The thing that had corrupted Leaf's forest?

The thing that I somehow knew, without ever seeing before?

"Vincent, stop!" called a swordsman.

"Yeah, you've had a fair go!"

"What happened to honour?"

"What honour is there in cheating against an 18-year-old girl?"

"She's won! Let her go!"

The swordsmen kept calling out him, getting more and more violent, but he didn't even seem to hear them.

He wanted to kill me.

He _needed_ to kill me . . .

But why?

If whatever it was that was controlling him wanted me dead, why didn't it just do it itself?

After all, it had killed and revived him while I stared into his face, and he hadn't even batted an eyelid . . .

All of a sudden, he reached out of the ring and grabbed a crate, throwing it at me with all of his strength. I threw myself out of the way and fell to the floor, and it smashed on the ground behind me, but he grabbed another and threw it at me with the same extreme force, and it hit me full in the face.

My nose seemed broken and I raised a hand to it and stood up, blood running between my fingers. He continued throwing them and I ran back and forth, stopping and reversing when he threw one in front of me.

The swordsmen stood up, shouting at Vincent and starting towards him. One grabbed him by the arms, hoping to stop him, but he ripped the sword out of the other man's sheath and slammed the hilt of the sword into the man's face and he fell to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

"Vincent, for God's sake!" shouted a red-headed swordsman. "What would Gloria say?"

At the mention of his wife's name, Vincent's eyes seemed to clear for a second and he hesitated, but they soon clouded again and he glared at the man, teeth bared, running at him with his sword extended . . .

Another swordsman punched Vincent in the face, sending him slamming into the ground. The red-headed swordsman had turned white, unable to move in the shock of almost being killed by his good friend . . .

The other swordsmen crowded around Vincent, as if worried he was okay, some of them giving him small kicks for being so dishonourable . . .

Vincent stood up, shoving his friends aside and ran towards me, shouting a battle cry. I rolled out of his way, sending him slamming into the wall. He didn't even hesitate, leaving his sword embedded in the wall and picking his shield off the ground, running towards me.

Big mistake.

Seriously, coming at me with nothing but a shield?

He'd have to learn the hard way.

This was a real fight now.

Time to stop being nice.

I pulled a dagger out of it's sheath around my waist and held it ready, ducking under his swing and embedding it in his thigh.

He let out a scream of pain and collapsed onto the ground, clutching his leg.

"Vincent!" called the man who had almost been run through. Still sticking by his friend . . .

"That's not Vincent anymore." I reply calmly, sheathing my sword and grabbing a handful of purification powder out of my pouch.

If I was lucky . . . If I was very, very lucky . . .

Maybe . . . he could be like me . . . dead, but alive . . .

No.

I don't want anyone else to suffer like me.

No-one else should go through my pain.

If I was lucky, he would die without me having to cause his body more pain.

I sprinkled the powder onto the wounded Vincent and he screamed and twisted as if burned by acid . . .

And was still.

Until his mouth opened and a purple and black cloud seemed to evaporate from inside him, dissolving into the air.

The Guide, Sarita and the mayor rushed over to observe the fallen knight, the Guide handing me a healing potion for my broken nose. The other swordsmen crowded around.

"You killed him!" shouted one of them, pointing an accusing finger at me.

"He was already dead. That thing, whatever it was, killed him and used his body to take a swing at me. I'm ready to bet any money that whatever it was is what is spreading the corruption here, or at least one of it's minions."

". . . But . . . what was that powder?"

"Purification powder. Stops corruption, which was the only thing keeping him walking."

The red-headed swordsman who had almost been killed put his face in his hands and swore. ". . . He had a wife . . . Gloria . . . she'll be devastated . . ."

I couldn't help but feel guilty. He had been a living, breathing man with his own life, with a wife, with honour and duty and skill . . .

. . . and he had died because of me.

5


	13. Corruption and Naiveness

"I think you have proof enough!" I cried at the mayor. "I don't need protection! I'll go on my own!"

"I'd let you if I could, but after seeing Vincent die, the swordsmen are all the more insistent on coming with you! They want to stop the corruption, to avenge Vincent."

"But I'm the one who's supposed to be doing all of the avenging!"

"Do you think I don't know that? They want to come with you, and even I can't stop them. All together, they're as stubborn as you."

"Listen. The only reason Vincent died was to have a go at me, and I won't let anyone else die for me! All of the swordsmen, they have families and people who will wait for them to come home, and I can't bear putting that at risk! The Guide's convinced me that he'll come with me, but that's only because he's such a good friend of mine."

"So you'd rather risk your friend than people you barely know?"

His words sharper than any sword, I glared at him.

He just didn't understand . . . why didn't anybody understand?

I'm a hero, I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the protection!

I stormed away, towards the room in which the swordsmen were waiting and, I realised as I neared, were making quite a racket.

"No – Wait! I'm sorry!" the mayor called uselessly after me. He always regretted it when he said something that made me upset, as did anybody, but he had gone too far.

I mean, it wasn't as if I had accepted the Guide right away . . . it had taken him 24 hours of shouting and crying until he resorted to the speech he had given me to make him take him to the forest with me . . . it was hard to argue with that speech.

Apart from the fact it had one great, big, gaping hole in it.

I hadn't brought myself to tell him yet . . .

He had something wrong.

Would I ever be able to tell him?

But, the way things were going, I might have to explain it to the swordsmen.

I walked into the room and was immediately assaulted by the shouts and begs and cries of swordsmen, all of which were begging to come with me.

"Let me come! I was Vincent's friend!"

"He was my cousin!"

"He was my teacher!"

"I'm his nephew!"

"I'm his son!"

"I was his uncle!"

"He was my brother!"

"No, you're not! You're too old!"

"None of you are his family! Vincent didn't have any family!" called out the red-headed swordsman who I understood to be Vincent's friend.

"What's your name?" I asked the swordsman who had spoke, the noise in the room dying down.

"I . . . I'm Felix." he said. "I was a good friend of Vincent's. I'm the one who had to tell Gloria that . . . he died."

"Now, listen, Felix. You saw Gloria. You saw how his death ripped her apart. Would you like that to happen to your wife?" I indicated to the wedding ring on his finger.

"I . . . we're not married yet."

"That's beside the point."

He stared at me like I'd grown two heads. Maybe I have . . . I'm definitely in two minds about this situation.

"Of course not. But . . . if I died for this land, I'd be a small sacrifice for the greater good."

"No. That's my job! It's my job to die for the greater good, and I have and I will."

". . . What?"

I cringed. It was so easy to forget that they didn't know. "I'm a hero. I already am, and I was before I saved my homeland. I was sent here to save you from the corruption, not to let you die trying to do it yourselves!"

"You need help," came a familiar voice from the door. I turned to the Guide, glaring. "You already have me, we need more. You can't stop this."

"It's my duty, as who I am, as Zelda68, to stop this! You're only coming because you use that damn speech every time I try to talk you out of it!"

"Something wrong with that speech? Oh, wait, yes. You just haven't told me what it is yet."

"Guide, I don't want anyone to come!"

"Don't want anyone to steal the spotlight from you?"

"NO! GUIDE, I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO GET HURT!"

"I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!"

"I KNOW! BUT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU'VE NEVER BEEN IN OPEN CORRUPTION BEFORE! In the forest, the trees protected you! You don't know what it feels like! Everything stinks of death, it almost drove me mad! Nothing was alive, nothing! No birds, no grass, no trees, no nothing! You will be the only one there, the only living thing! It will suck the very life out of you if you're not strong enough! I DON'T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN TO ANYONE ELSE! NO-ONE SHOULD HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT PAIN!"

"But you did, and here you are now! Still alive!"

"AM I, GUIDE?"

I bolted out of the room, leaving him to explain it to the swordsmen. The mayor tried to stop me, but I just ran.

I needed some time to think.

I sat on the edge of the corruption for a few hours, a battle raging in my mind.

They wanted to come . . . I didn't want them to come . . . Why? . . . Why . . . why . . . why?

I stood there for ages and ages, trying to clear my head . . .

There was a reason I didn't want them to come, but . . . what was it? I couldn't seem to recall . . .

Maybe . . .

Could it be that I was going in this pointless circle because there was no reason for me to not let them come?

No . . . there was a reason . . .

Why . . . my mind was going so fuzzy . . .

I opened my eyes in an attempt to clear my head, and realised something . . .

My entire body had gone numb . . . and not from pins and needles . . .

Oh no . . . what was happening?

Felix rushed toward me, sheathing his sword. "I thought you might have run away!"

"As if I'd be stupid enough to do that . . ." I said, making no attempt to make him feel bad. He'd been through a lot . . . "Actually, I'd better head back. I think I've spent too long next to the corruption, I'm going numb . . ."

"Hang on," he said, catching my arm. "Your friend – the Guide, he said . . . he said that . . . you were dead."

"I am." I cringed – even admitting it now that everyone knew was painful.

"You're a . . . zombie?"

"Yes."

"But . . . a zombie with emotions?"

I sat back down, rubbing my face with my hands. "I died killing the monster the kept the corruption spreading in Terraria. The remaining corruption brought me back, or at least part of me, but it was gone before it could turn me into a . . . normal zombie."

"So you don't breathe?"

"I don't breathe, my heart doesn't beat, but I still have emotions, I still walk and talk, I feel pain and I can eat, but I'm not alive. It's anything but pleasant, trust me."

"So you . . . for a little while, you were dead?"

"Just five minutes, but it felt like forever."

"But you didn't go to . . . the other side? Heaven or hell?"

"Ah, No. I've been to hell, but it had nothing to do with dying." He stared at me, eyes uncomprehending. "Look, if you mine down far enough, by which I mean very, very far down, you reach hell. It's everything your religion cracks it up to be, just no souls or torture or punishment for your bad deeds in life. There's lava, hellstone, demons, fire imps, bone serpents and all kinds of fire-related monsters, but it's not on the other side."

". . . No heaven either? Would you know?"

"Yes. I built a ladder to the top of the world, among the clouds, until I couldn't go any further, but no heaven."

". . . So . . . what truth is there in our religion?"

"I don't know, but I don't think there's much."

". . . Right."

"Were you a believer?"

"Not really, but it feels strange to hear the truth straight out."

I indicated to the engagement ring on his finger. "Is _she_ a believer?"

He smiled. "Yes. Church every day, prayers every night, say grace at every meal."

"Who is she?" My eyes widen. "Hang on, she's not . . ."

"Her name's Christina. She already has a daughter called Sarita and we've had a child named Amethyst. Do you know her?"

"Not that well, but Sarita is a good friend of mine. From what I can tell, she's slightly mad."

"Slightly madly obsessed, but not mad in any other way."

"News to me." Felix laughed, not insulted at all.

"I know she's a bit . . . eccentric and . . . dramatic at times, but she's really . . . well, we're marrying for a reason."

"Yeah," I say with a smile, sitting down. "I hope, anyway . . . Sarita never mentioned you were a swordsman."

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. Do you get on well with Sarita?"

"I think so. The trouble is . . . I think she still believes that her father will come back. He was banished -"

"Into the corruption, a few years ago. But it is possible that he's still out there."

". . . I suppose. He was a brilliant swordsman, but he wasn't a hero."

"Why does that make him worse than me? Everyone seems to think that they're less important than me just because I am who I am, but I don't think that's fair."

"Well, you may be better with a sword than all of the swordsmen in the land, but I think that all of us play a part in this land. We live as we please and we die as we please."

Here it comes . . .

"And all of us wish to die for the good of this land, not of old age with brittle bones. We are trained swordsmen, and we want to die in your favour."

"But . . . no! Please, you don't get it! Letting you die for me goes against everything that makes me a hero!"

"How?"

I sighed. "My duty, as a hero, isn't just to save this land, but it's people. I bleed so that others don't have to bleed, and while you're busy fighting the corruption I'm fighting the monster that keeps it spreading. That's me. Letting you die so that I can go on is making you bleed for me, and then I've failed as a hero! I've failed to save _you_! Don't you see?"

". . . I do. But, I'm sorry, we're coming. We want to be heroes as well, and as long as you refuse to let us die, we can all work together."

I stared at him and, after a while, gave up with a sigh. "The mayor was right. Altogether you swordsmen are as stubborn as me, and a lot more persuasive."

"When are we leaving?" he asked, standing up.

"We'll spend the rest of the day training against the corruption monsters, and tomorrow at dawn you say goodbye to your loved ones and we head into the corruption. I'll take the most skilled of you with me, the others stay back and spread the circle of sunflowers with the purification powder."

Felix gave an affirmative nod and saluted me. I frowned. "No salutes, please! I'm 18 years old, remember?"

Felix laughed. "True, but you're more than worthy of my respect . . . I never thought I'd salute an 18-year-old . . . _hero. _I was going to say girl, but you're more than that."

"Am I?" I asked, looking unsure. "News to me."

Felix didn't smile, but headed into town ahead of me and mysteriously disappeared behind the church. I ran to catch up to him and heard him whisper a "yes" to someone, which was immediately followed by cheers and laughs from a crowd of people with him.

"Shh! She'll only take the best of us."

". . . I want to go!"

"He can't go, he's got kids!"

"I'm good enough!"

"No you're not, you don't even wear armour!"

"I'm coming!"

"Maybe I shouldn't . . ."

"What, got cold feet?"

"Shut up!"

A fight immediately ensued over who was to come with me, and was only stopped by Felix shouting "QUIET!" Everyone paused, surprised that someone who, a few days ago, would cling to his friends and spend his spare time trying to make new ones.

"She only wants half of us because she doesn't want us to get hurt! It's her duty as a hero to die protecting us, not to let us die protecting her!"

"Did you even _try_ my plan?"

"No, because it was idiotic! I mean, come on! Nobody over five would fall for that!"

I cleared my throat, heads turning in my direction.

"I want to go with you, miss!"

"Don't call her miss, you idiot! She's a hero, not some school teacher!" called a blonde swordsman.

"Don't call me an idiot! You're the one who -"

"YOU AGREED NEVER TO TELL ANYONE ABOUT THAT!"

"Let me go!"

"Don't let him go, let me go! Look at my rapier, it's hilt has diamonds on it!"

"Stop showing off your rapier! It's for show, not fights!"

"Yeah, you do that to all the girls, even if they're eighteen!"

"Please, everyone, calm down!" called Felix.

"Listen," I say clearly. "We'll spend the rest of the day getting used to fighting the monsters of the corruption, namely Eater of Souls. They're everywhere, you'll have to get used to them. I'll be picking who's going to come with me not in skill, but in resistance to the corruption. Back when I was alive, it affected me more than most people so I don't know about now."

"So it's true?"

"You're dead?"

"Are you a zombie?"

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP AND LISTEN! Yes, it's true, but don't spread it around, okay? You have no idea how much I want it secret, even now that my friends know! Get your swords and bows, eat up, meet me here in one hour!"

As my words sunk in, everyone except Felix went to get their weapons.

"Yes," Felix answered simply, reading my mind. "They're always that immature."

"Good for them."

**X X X**

All of a sudden, they weren't so sure.

The swordsmen had their swords and bows ready, and the Guide his gun, but their previous air of defiance was gone. We were on the edge of the corruption, ready to step over.

I was feeling uneasy myself . . . now that I was dead, what would the corruption feel like? When I was alive, it was terrible . . . I felt sick. The air was dark, thick with death. Everything was dead, except me . . .

But now that I was dead, what would happen? Would I feel . . . at home? The corruption was the reason I was alive, or at least walking, so would I feel comfortable? Zombies always seemed stronger in the corruption . . .

No.

I wasn't a zombie. I was alive, but dead.

Breathing was overrated . . . if the Guide could do it alive, I could do it dead. I always used to say that . . . it didn't really make any sense . . . maybe, if I wanted my childish self to come back, I had to talk nonsense again . . .

"Come on," I said, taking a step forward. "A quick warning – I was sick the first time."

"I'll never let you go for that, you know." said the Guide with a smirk. With his gun at the ready and bullets in a pouch on his waist, he almost looked . . . _manly_.

He had never, ever looked manly before.

It was almost disturbing.

"No wisecracks?" asked the Guide, looking disappointed. "You've been letting me down on that front recently, y'know."

I didn't say anything. What could I say? I was trying . . .

The Guide read my face and winced. "Sorry, I know you're trying."

I gave him a small smile and continued forward, the swordsmen following. As I passed the sunflowers, it felt as if I had died all over again. Everything . . . dead . . . I took a deep breath.

"Try to keep a clear head," I advised the swordsmen, seeing them about to pass through the barrier . . . not that there was a barrier. "It brings out negative emotions, makes you fear and despair and rage . . . but that's all part of the corruption. Those emotions aren't yours, they've been brought out. Ignore them."

"Are they hard to ignore?" asked a swordsman, nervously stepping over the barrier. The moment he did, his face whitened and he started shaking and clutched his sides, as if freezing.

"It's okay. You're not really cold."

"B-but it's freezing!"

"It's not. If it's freezing, why isn't it cold?"

The swordsman stopped shaking and opened his eyes, as if waking up.

"I know how you feel." I say with slightly raised eyebrows.

I turned to see the other swordsmen, some falling over and some gasping for air. The Guide was breaking his manly image by staying on the safe side of the sunflowers, watching like a mouse watching a cat in a trap, as if he couldn't believe it. Could he survive what they couldn't?

"I – I can't breathe . . ." gasped Felix, clutching his throat.

"The air here is foul, it can kill animals, but you're strong. You can breathe." Felix stood up and I moved onto the others, consoling them and helping them up. Some were boiling, some freezing and some were suffocating. But my talking to them got them up.

I wish someone had been there to help me up . . .

"Guide!" I called. "Stay on that side for now, but shoot any Eater of Souls, okay?" The Guide gave a small nod, readying his gun.

"How on Earth did you pick yourself up off the ground?" asked Felix. "You said that it affected you more than us, so . . ."

"Well, almost being eaten by a giant Eater of Souls kind of bursts your bubble."

Felix gave a short laugh and turned to the men who were now his competition. They seemed ready enough, but most of them were shaking slightly and some were still breathing heavily. None of them, Felix included, had any colour left in their cheeks. Did I? I supposed not . . . no heart beating to do it.

"Guide, the others have their swords ready, you can come over now." The Guide reluctantly stepped past the sunflowers, collapsing to the ground as soon as he did. I rushed to him, helping him up. He turned to me, shaking and breathing unevenly.

"I refuse to believe that you feel worse than me right now." the Guide said simply. My face turned stony.

"Believe me, I do. But, unlike you, I was made to live here long enough to purify this place . . ." my voice trailed off, leaving the Guide to lose himself in thought. I regained my composure and turned to the hills bordering the landscape. Why hadn't any Eater of Souls appeared yet? That was unusual . . . maybe they weren't so common here . . .

No.

Every time I try to be optimistic, something comes and tries to stop me from ever thinking positively again.

As if on cue, an Eater of Souls flew over the hills, letting out something between a roar and a scream, lunging at us at full speed. I looked into what had become a familiar sight – the gaping jaws and rows of sharp teeth that was the mouth of an Eater of Souls, it's yellow eyes barely visible over it's mouth . . .

Staring through it's mouth and into the abyss that was its stomach, memories came flooding back to me . . .

_I threw the body of the creature off my sword, turning to find myself face-to-face with another._

_ Damn . . ._

_ I hadn't realised quite how annoying these Eaters of Souls were . . ._

_ Well, I had, but there seemed to be more than usual here._

_ I ducked underneath it just in time, stabbing my sword up into it. I rolled out of the way just before the body stopped hovering and fell onto me, getting up and looking around me. Small Eaters of Souls, just more than half my size, were circling all around me, as if trying to decide who would take the first bite._

_ Ha._

_ I like my body in it's current not-_very_-ripped-apart state, thank you very much!_

_ I reached into my pouch and pulled out a handful of purification powder, not throwing it at the creatures but on myself._

_ I could feel it's power for good inside me . . . I could do anything . . ._

_ I spun my body and my sword in a circular motion, only coming to a stop when all of the monsters had been cut in half and lay discarded on the ground._

_ The effects of the powder wearing off, I began to relax as I observed my surroundings and saw no more coming._

_ Now I could concentrate on building my bridge over this ebonstone abyss . . ._

_ All of a sudden, and Eater of Souls flew out of the pit, catching me by surprise. This one, I maintain, was bigger than the others, and it came very close to biting my head off._

_ Very._

_ But not close enough._

_ I stood for a moment, still surprised by the suddenness of the monster appearing, and realised something._

_ No wonder this bridge was so hard to build . . ._

_ It was over a bloody Eater of Souls nest!_

_ Luck . . . what did I ever do to you?_

_ I felt a sharp pain erupt from both of my sides and found myself with an Eater of Souls attached to my back, biting into my sides. I swore in pain and tried to shake the creature off, but it's grip only tightened. I threw myself into the ground and tried to squash it, but once again, it only tightened it's grip on me._

_ Okay._

_ If that was the way it wanted this to be, alright._

_ I thrust my sword backwards, arching my back in a way that only caused me more pain, and the creature's grip slackened and it fell onto the ground._

_ Maybe . . . maybe it was time to head back to the shelter._

The swordsmen and the Guide stared at the approaching monster, sweating and some cowering at the sight of it. I turned back to the creature and smiled wolfishly.

This was _my_ territory.

I readied my sword and waited until the creature was very close, some of the swordsmen falling over and scrambling back into the light, the Guide only kept still because he was frozen in place. But the monster ignored him, it knew that I was it's enemy . . .

As soon as the creature was close enough to take a chunk out of me, I ran forward, as if greeting it, and jumped into the air, stabbing my sword through it's massive eye and into the mouth that seemed to take up it's entire body. It let out a blood-curling scream and I twisted the blade inside it, deep green blood oozing out from the wound. The blood didn't pour out, the creature wasn't alive enough. It's carcass fell uselessly to the floor, dragging my sword with it.

That felt good.

I turned to the others, the Guide staring at the carcass and the others staring at me, wondering how I could take down such a fearsome creature. Fearsome? Ha. They were new to the corruption.

". . . That . . . that was an Eater of Souls," concluded the Guide, staring at me.  
>"They . . . look scarier in real life."<p>

"Tell me about it." I muttered, turning back to the swordsmen. They were glancing from me to the carcass and back again, uncomprehending. I sighed.

"That . . . that was an Eater of Souls?" stammered Felix, staring at me with wide eyes. "You said that those things were everywhere!"

"They are." I answered simply.

I heard the familiar roar-shriek and turned back to the hills to see no less than five Eaters of Souls flying in an arc over the mountain and towards me. I ran towards them, sword ready, shouting a battle cry.

"Guide! Gun!" I called back. "I've taken on more than this, but I'm a little rusty!"

I heard the clicking sounds of a gun being loaded and continued running, towards the creatures . . . I leapt up and used the same technique I had on the first on the closest one, plunging my sword into it and ripping it out. I rolled forward and turned, jumping, sword extended onto another, slicing it in half. The Guide shot one of them, and the last found itself on the tip of my sword.

I turned to the others, the Guide with his gun pointing at the sky and the swordsmen frozen on the spot. I sighed again.

"Still want to come with me?" I asked, looking tired. "It's easier than it looks, trust me. Come on."

The swordsmen nervously got to their feet, swords in both hands so I wouldn't see that they were shaking.

"Bows out. The next lot are yours, okay? If any get too close, I'll do the honours." The swordsmen took their bows out and reached over their shoulders for arrows in unison. Some took three arrows, some more, and some only one. It was hard to judge them by the amount of arrows they took out – were the ones with more arrows novices, or were they just being safe? And were the ones with few confident or overconfident?

Once again, many Eaters of Souls came over the hill, giving their trademark noise. Some of the swordsmen were sweating, some perfectly still. I counted the monsters – twelve. One for each of them . . . good.

Once they were within range, some of the monsters fell to the ground, resembling pincushions, but the others only became fiercer.

"Shoot! Kill them!" I cried uselessly, but no-one moved. Six of them were coming towards us, full speed, and nobody moved. "Shoot! For god's sake, shoot!" My words finally began to register in their brains, and all of them released their arrows. However, one of them, the blonde one, missed. His arrow wasn't close enough to be fatal, and the Eater of Souls simply dodged it.

I went to kill the beast, but the Guide shot it before I got a chance. I turned back to them. Felix and some others looked remotely calm and pleased with themselves, but others, especially the blonde swordsman, looked nervous and were sweating even though the threat had disappeared.

"Come on everybody, into the corruption!" I called at them, as some had unconsciously stepped backwards. Those that had headed back into the corruption and gasped for air, as if suddenly underwater. Some looked close to falling over, but they managed to regain their composure and kept still. "Watch out, we've been here long enough to attract the attention of a devourer!"

The ground around us began to shake, and I knew that a devourer was on it's way. "Quick on your feet! Devourers like easy food, and that's what you'll be if you freeze!" My words only seemed to terrify the soldiers, and they glanced around nervously. "When it comes out of the ground, hit it with arrows! I'll do the rest!"

Some if the swordsmen took arrows out of their quivers and readied them as if in a trance, and the others were moving slightly on their feet, as if ready to run. The ground's trembling escalated until it felt like an earthquake, and a devourer lunged out of the ground.

It had one large, yellow eye that was fixed on the swordsmen without their bows ready. It's snakelike form was hideous, covered in blotches ranging from purple and skin colour, and it's many sharp teeth were dominated by two giant fangs that stuck through the flesh in it's mouth, as if forced out. Nobody shot at it, as if surprised at it's size although I had made it clear.

It lunged at one of the swordsmen, but one of his friends pushed him out of the way just before the devourer could drag him into the ground with it and enjoy a tasty snack. It disappeared into the ground, as if the earth was moving around it.

"Keep moving and keep an eye out for when it comes back out! When it does, shoot at it!" The swordsmen began to frantically run back and forth, like rats trapped in a maze. I sighed . . . could I bring any of them with me?

Interrupting my thoughts, the devourer sprang out of the ground again, very nearly taking Felix up with it. The few who were ready shot their arrows at the gargantuan worm and the Guide bullets, and it let out an ear-piercing shriek of pain that stopped the swordsmen in their tracks, covering their ears.

I, however, was used to it.

It didn't have time to aim for the frozen swordsmen, and as it crashed into the ground I cut it's head off. It stopped shrieking and lay still on the ground, the swordsmen staring at the creature's severed head and long body that was laying on the ground, twitching slightly before lying still. I reached my hand into the devourer's mouth, pulling out some of it's teeth as a prize.

"What do you need them for?" asked a trembling swordsman.

"Devourer teeth make good fishing rod hooks and are needed for some potions," explained the Guide without batting an eyelid. "Also they look cool – Zelda68 gave me a devourer-tooth necklace for my last birthday."

"Maybe we should head back now," I suggested, eyeing the Eater of Souls gathering on the horizon. "I think we've annoyed them."

The swordsmen got up and headed towards the village where we found ourselves surrounded by young kids who had been watching us and were impressed.

"That big worm thing was so evil!" exclaimed a girl. "You really are a hero!" I grinned at her and she blushed.

"It was like FWIP BANG AAAARGH SLICE THUD!" announced a boy whose mother was calling for him.

"Dad, you're such a loser!" announced a blonde boy who was the spitting image of his father.

"Am I now?" asked the blonde swordsman, picking up his son. "And what would you have done?"

"Shot it and killed it!" announced the boy, demonstrating with his hands.

"Hmm," said the swordsman thoughtfully. "And should I put that to the test?"

"No!" said the boy terrified. The swordsman laughed and carried his son home.

All of us split up and the Guide and I headed for the restaurant for an early lunch. Sarita was waiting for us, holding a mug of hot chocolate. "Our swordsmen aren't all they're cracked up to be, huh?" she asked, making a face at her drink.

"Not really, but I suppose they've never been in the corruption before." I said, interrupting the Guide who looked as if he was going to answer with a definite "Yes!".

"I guess." she said with a small smile. "You want me to get you anything?"

"I'll pay." I said immediately. "I've got too much money as it is."

"Thanks. What do you want?"

"Whatever that is." the Guide and I said in unison, indicating towards her hot chocolate.

It was going to be a long day . . .

I had promised them that I'd take some of them with me . . . but in the corruption, they just weren't good enough . . .

What was I going to do?

10


	14. Building Again

**An Interlude**

Was it just my mind playing tricks with me?

Had my father been better than the other swordsmen, or had I just convinced myself that?

Everything was so complicated . . .

Not as complicated as it was for Zelda68 . . . she had promised to take them, or at least some of them, with her. Had any of them really been good enough? I'd seen them freeze at the sight the sight of an Eater of Souls, and they were everywhere in the corruption. Could the men survive fighting off ten of them at once?

The Guide finished his hot chocolate in under a minute, but Zelda68 seemed distracted. It was only then that I could appreciate just how little she ate. What would she eat in the corruption, anyway?

Nourishment potions? It seemed she ate them all the time on Terraria.

But, looking at her now, I saw just how impatient she was. She had faced the swordsmen to prove that she was better than them, but now they insisted on coming with her even though she won.

She just wanted to go into the corruption and put an end to all this madness.

But she couldn't.

Being a hero must be very stressful . . .

**X X X**

Everything is messed up.

Last time it was just like: "Here's a sword, train with it and then save the world." But now it was like: "Make your own sword, come into the village, be forced to pick between swordsmen, all of which are terrible fighters, to come and save the world with you. Oh, by the way, you're dead. Live with it."

Things had gone from simple to complicated in the blink of an eye, and all of a sudden I was faced with a decision that was impossible. Why did everybody think that me being a hero meant that I could do things like this? I'm good with a sword, sure, but do they think that I have some kind of a degree in hard decisions?

The hardest decision I'd ever had to make before this was between blinkroot and daybloom seeds on one of the rare occasions in which my pouch was full. You weren't even supposed to be able to fill it, but I proved the Dryad wrong.

Speaking of which, where was Leaf?

I hadn't seen him since the other day, when the mayor had ordered for a house to be built for him. He could've just asked me . . .

I get off my bed in the mayor's house and headed for the small construction site, hoping to take my mind off things by helping out. I reached it in five minutes, realising that things were progressing quite slowly. Construction had barely began, but that was likely because there were only three builders left in the village and one planner. The planner had a fancy name that I couldn't remember – something like "architect" and the builders were called Phillip, Fred and David.

It was still hard to get used to the names in this place, they were so strange . . . but everybody here seemed to think that my name was strange, so fair enough. In fact, it took them ages to work out that the Guide's name actually was Guide, and that Guide wasn't just his occupation.

He was the Guide.

It wasn't that hard to work out, was it?

I walked up to the site, noticing that only Fred was working on it. "How are things going?" I asked, walking up to him.

"Not too well," he responded honestly. "The planner's caught up in something else and Phillip and Dave have been out for lunch for the last two hours. All I've been able to do is start crafting a door. At this rate it'll take months to finish."

"I might be able to help out." I said. "Stuff the planner, I've made a house for a Dryad before. I know what Leaf will like."

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "He just said he wanted it to be like a forest, that's all."

"Ha. Fair enough. I know what'll suit him."

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and the sun was going down by the time the basic shell of the wooden house was completed.

"I don't think Phillip and Dave are coming back." concluded Fred, pausing to wipe his brow. "We'll have to continue again tomorrow. Thanks for your help!"

"No problem! In fact, I think I'll start on the plants tonight."

"Hard to sleep?"

"Yeah, especially with swordsmen around every corner. See you tomorrow . . . if I'm still here."

I headed back to the mayor's house, axe still in my hands.

Everything was so complicated . . .

. . . apart from building.

**An Interlude**

It was impossible to sleep.

Whatever Zelda68 was doing in her room, it was just too loud to sleep down the corridor. Even the sound of the mayor's snoring was drowned out by the sound of hammering and clanging and every other noise that had ever come from her room at night, apart from screaming.

Had she even slept since we left the floating island? It had been almost a week now, she couldn't go on like this . . .

Giving up on trying to sleep, I got up, threw my clothes on and walked to her room. Glancing out of a window I realised that it was past midnight.

For god's sake, just because she didn't want to sleep didn't mean I should have to stay awake!

I knocked on her door and the clanging stopped for a moment, which I took as an invitation to come in. I opened the door to see Zelda68, sitting at a workbench with a hammer in her hands. She had bloodshot eyes with prominent bags underneath them, and on the workbench was a long rod of steel that, I could see from the completed ones around her, was going to make the frame of a window. Glass panes that she had cut to shape were propped up against the walls along with bags of soil and a multitude of seeds and seedlings in pots.

"What on Earth are you doing in here?" I asked, but Zelda68's eyes returned to her work.

"I'm working on Leaf's house." she answered easily. "He'd want plenty of windows to let the air in and plenty of plants, just like the Dryad back home."

I stared at her and sighed. "You know, you should sleep."

"Who could sleep when the corruption is still out there?" she asked, suddenly angry.

"You did in Terraria. You're doing this so that you don't have nightmares and you don't have to think about the swordsmen."

She stared at me, and I found myself once again surprised at how much I knew about her. How had I known that? Well, it's obvious when you think about it, but . . . sometimes my mind is ahead of me . . .

"I - no. I - I'm just . . . passing the time." she stammered. I raised my eyebrows.

"Well, don't forget, it's not just your time that's passing. I haven't slept at all!"

"Sorry. I'll start on the plants."

"You should just sleep." I said simply. "Y'know, _sleep_? S-L-E-E-P?"

"I know _of_ it." she said, her face suddenly in her hands. "But I'd just have a nightmare anyway, and then I might as well have not slept at all . . ."

"For god's sake Zelda68, you need to sleep! If you are going to go into the corruption, you can't do it half-alive!"

"I can sleep in the corruption." she replied stubbornly, looking up.

"But won't your nightmares just be worse there?"

"No. Haven't your books taught you anything?"

"I haven't read many of the ones on corruption, too freaky."

"Well, I have. That's weird . . . I've read a book that you haven't . . . but anyway, _"The corruption gives you no nightmares, it is itself a nightmare."_."

". . . Right . . . are you sure that's true?"

"Undoubtedly. I'd spent the last few months in the corruption before I faced . . . the Eye, and I spent the next year making up for it."

I couldn't reply, but sighed. "Just keep it down, alright?"

She gave a small nod. "I'll just finish this window and then you won't hear a word from me."

"Or a sound?"

"None of those either, whatever they are."

I grinned to myself and started back down the corridor. She was recovering . . . and faster than I had dared to hope.

** X X X **

I didn't dare stop and think, but in the quiet of the night (or rather, early morning) it was hard.

I became rather obsessive, pouring soil into the pots that I had shaped to cover every possible surface, hanging from windowsills, sitting on the floor, hanging from the ceiling . . . dayblooms, blinkroots, moonglows, waterleafs, fireblooms and plain old grass all in containers to suit the plant. It took a while for me to find meteorite and hellstone to make a lava-proof container for the fireblooms, but it would be worth it for . . . for what? For Leaf to be grateful, I suppose.

No, not grateful, happy. I wanted Leaf to be happy in the village.

Young trees would line the walls and vines would grow on them. There would be many skylights in the roof and the floor wouldn't be a floor but simply grass and everything would be perfectly natural to the extent that it would be hard to tell that it was a house and not a greenhouse. Leaf would lie in a bed made of clay with a feather mattress and pillows softened with moss, and sheets woven of reeds. It wouldn't be as comfortable as a normal bed, but then again Leaf had never slept in a normal bed and this was as comfortable I could make something out of plants.

I would do all of the work of course, it would be an undertaking but not my biggest. It would keep me busy until it was time to leave. I wanted to go, but there wasn't really any hurry – the corruption had been here for years so no purified land other than here would be left, so it was only a matter of purifying the rest of the land, not hurrying through it and trying to stop the corruption on the other end like in Terraria.

Everything was done, all of the plans drawn out, all of the pots sculpted, all of the windows made . . . what should I do now?

I could read a book, I suppose . . . but I was so . . . tired . . .

Was I tired, or was I already asleep? The workbench and tools had disappeared, and the last thing I thought was about nightmares before the whole world seemed to blur and everything turned black . . .

4


	15. Stabbed in the Back

"Hey! Hey, wake up!"

I let out a groan and raised my head, finding myself staring into the face of a concerned Guide.

"You were shaking and moaning," explained the Guide. "What were you dreaming about?"

I paused, my mind wasn't as clear as I would've liked. "Not . . . really . . ." I closed my eyes, and the sickly image of the Eater of Worlds appeared in my memory. "Oh . . . Eater of Worlds."

"Good. Well, not good, but at least it wasn't the . . . Eye." I winced and so did the Guide. "Sorry. But you were practically unconscious! Took me ages to wake you up. You need to start sleeping every night, you'll just fall asleep on your feet out there."

"Dunno. Battle with a devourer tends to keep me awake." The Guide gave a short laugh but frowned and indicated toward my night's work.

"Really, how long were you awake for? And where in the world did you find lava?"

"Put a few spells on it, it's not hot to touch but it's good enough for the fireblooms."

"You? A spell? I didn't know you knew anything about spells, let alone were able to cast them!"

"Hey, I'm as capable as reading a book aloud as you!"

"You just read it out? You should study for at least a year before even trying! If you did something wrong you could -"

"I know, I know, I could've exploded the village! But I didn't!" He stared at me, mouth open and doing his best impression of a startled fish. His ridiculously spiky hair was everywhere after his sleep, and I couldn't help but notice that his shirt was on inside-out. "Shirt." I said simply, pointing at it.

"What abou – oh. Just a minute."

As the Guide hurried back to his room, a grin broke out across my face and I burst out laughing. I heard the Guide start laughing down the corridor and it continued until the mayor came out of his room to see what all of the noise was about.

He can be scary when you wake him up . . .

Within ten minutes, I was transporting my windows and flowers to Leaf's house, load after load. It took about half an hour and soon after finishing I found myself being stared at by three builders.

"You did all this overnight?" asked Fred.

"Of course she didn't! You bought it, didn't you?" asked Phillip.

"No I didn't!" I said, feeling slightly offended. "And I'll be doing the work today, you can head home."

Phillip and David let out cries of delight and headed for their homes, but Fred raised his eyebrows and sighed, starting towards me. "I'm helping you." he said simply.

"Do you really want to? You'll get paid if you go too, you know."

"Ha! Those two layabouts can head home and get paid for nothing, but I actually _like_ building."

I smiled, taking my hammer off my waist and searching through my pouch for some nails. "Right, I'll need some help with the waterleafs. Their tank is glass and it's pretty heavy, I'll need some help to get it inside."

I'd like to say that the rest of the day was a blur, but it was all very clear. Fitting in windows, nailing rectangular pots to the walls, starting vines growing on the walls and sculpting the bed out of clay. Fred seemed impressed with my night's work and asked me a few questions about how I had made certain things.

By the middle of the afternoon, I was setting out to the forest to find Leaf. He must've headed back there because his house wasn't ready yet. For a little while I felt annoyed at him for not telling anybody, he was going, but I supposed it was fair enough for him to be a little antisocial, until a few days ago he hadn't even met another – or rather, a human being in his ridiculously long life.

I was halfway up the slope when I felt a hand on my back and turned around, sword in hand to find myself confronting an exhausted Guide. He jumped back slightly at the sight of my sword, but collapsed on the ground.

"Guide!" I cried, kneeling down. "Are you alright? You look like you've been running for miles!" He glared at me.

"Well, maybe I have been! You could've told me you were going, I saw you leaving and thought you were daft enough to go into the corruption without speaking with the swordsmen!"

"I've just been to find Leaf." I explained, reaching into my pouch for some water. "His house is ready to move into, I was going to find him."

"He's not in the village? I thought he was jut wandering around."

"No. I looked everywhere and asked everyone, they hadn't seen him since the other day." I handed the Guide the water and he snatched it from me and gulped down like he hadn't drank in days. "That was our only water, y'know."

"There'll be a stream in the forest . . . I just sounded like you."

"I know. It's weird . . . come on then. We should get there by sundown if we keep the pace up."

We trekked to the top of the hill, reaching the top in under an hour. Everything seemed fine, and the Guide continued forward, but I stopped him.

"What is it?" he asked, frowning.

"Something . . . something is wrong. Something is . . . tainted . . ." The Guide looked around, suddenly nervous, and I peered down into the forest . . . what was it? My senses told me that something was down there, but I couldn't see anything . . .

"There it is!" I shouted at the same time I spotted it. "There's a patch of corruption! Quick, before it can spread!"

The Guide and I rushed down the hill, my sword in hands but the Guide, woefully unprepared, simply followed along behind me. Absent-mindedly, I handed him a hunting knife and he stared at it.

"What's this for?"

"Who knows what's down there! For all we know, the . . . _thing_ could still be here! We might have to put up a fight, you should do alright with that."

The Guide looked as if he was going to reply, but was cut off by a cry of pain.

"Leaf!" we shouted simultaneously, rushing into the forest. We ran, side by side, towards the patch of corruption and I purified it before it could spread far.

"Another one over here!" called the Guide, leading me through the trees and right onto another foul spot. I handed him the powder.

"I'm going to look for Leaf, he might be hurt. You keep an eye out for . . . whatever."

I rushed from him before he could complain and ran through the trees.

"Leaf! Leaf, where are you?" I called to no avail. I searched the forest for another two minutes, hoping to find him, sword in one hand and healing potion in the other. I heard a noise from deep in the trees, a moan that turned into a startled gasp.

What had happened?

Had he regained conciousness and been startled by his own blood? That had happened to me . . .

Frowning, I slowly advanced on the spot where the noise had come from, disturbing images and sinister scenes flashing through my mind . . .

But what I saw topped them all.

Leaf was on the ground, his arm coated in shockingly scarlet blood that flowed from a deep gash in his shoulder. He was looking straight at me, eyes pleading . . .

What did he want me to do?

I noticed some movement over my shoulder and whirled around, sword at the ready . . .

There was nothing there.

Just . . . shadows.

But something tickled at my memory . . . I remembered seeing the shadows twist and coil around a figure in a cloak, before being poisoned . . .

It was here.

It was here . . .

But what was it?

All thought are banished from my mind when I feel a sharp pain erupt from my back. I cried out in pain, whirling around to face nothing but darkness. The shadows moved, as if alive, and I knew without a doubt that it was them that had stabbed me. I fell to the ground, powerless, expecting them to finish the job . . .

"NO!" called a familiar voice from the trees. "DON'T YOU DARE!"

The Guide rushed out of the trees and attempted to slash at the shadows with nothing but a hunting knife . . .

But it worked.

The shadows vanished into the air, the Guide looking around warily. The eerie silence was interrupted by a high-pitched laugh, almost a giggle, that seemed to emit from everywhere at once . . .

Whatever it was, it was toying with us . . .

And then it was gone. I could feel it.

"G-gone . . ." I said to the Guide, feeling weak and unable to stand, the world turning to darkness. "It's . . . gone . . ."

"Zelda68!" The Guide cried, dropping to the ground beside me.

"No . . . not me . . . Leaf . . ."

"You're worse off than him! For god's sake, you've been stabbed in the back!"

The harsh reality of the words didn't have time to settle into my brain . . .

Everything turned to darkness until nothing but the pain remained . . .

**An Interlude**

That thing . . . those . . . shadows . . . they had stabbed her.

Had she ever been stabbed before?

What could've stabbed her?

Oh, wait, she had been stabbed with a pickaxe of an undead miner, but something told me that those shadows had been sharper . . .

. . . and an awful lot more painful . . .

"Zelda68! Wake up!" the Guide called uselessly.

"G-Guide . . . healing potion . . ." I coughed weakly, my blood running onto the forest floor.

I would have to clean that up later . . .

Did blood stain? Would it stain grass?

I turned my attention to my arm as the Guide rushed over. Blood was flowing over the corrupted hand, which seemed to be glowing slightly.

"What . . ." I began, but seemed unable to finish. The Guide had noticed it too and tried his best to wipe the blood off my arm.

"Zelda68 told me about this. The corruption on your hand will spread unless I wipe the blood off quickly . . . I hope that'll do . . ." The Guide brought out the healing potion and I gagged slightly at the taste of the liquid.

Zelda68 had said it tasted nice . . .

Did she even have tastebuds?

No, wait . . . she had said it was better than the mushroom soup that the Guide would praise . . . it was the Guide who didn't have tastebuds.

My arm began to heal itself and the potion brought a welcome numbness to the pain. I sat upright but the Guide forced me back down.

"Just a second, I need to bandage your arm."

The Guide bandaged my arm so tightly that I could feel my heart beating under the cloth. When I said as much, he loosened it and turned his attention to Zelda68. He automatically checked for a pulse, but swore at his incompetence and brought out some more bandages. Blushing as he did so, he lifted up her shirt and tied the bandage around her middle.

"She has an awful lot of scars . . ." commented the Guide, pulling her shirt back down. "I wonder where they came from . . . if I asked she'd tell me . . ." I couldn't help but chuckle and the Guide started blushing again. "N-not that I'd -er . . . not that I'd want t-to see her with her shirt . . . off . . . er . . ."

"I get it, Guide." I said, my grin never fading.

"I hope she'll be alright . . ." muttered the Guide, reaching into his pouch and bringing out one of the many healing potions that he kept in there at all times (for rare occasions such as this).

"She's been through worse." I said, resting my hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, but can her body even heal itself? She is dead, after all . . ."

"She's not dead." the Guide said firmly. "Breathing is overrated."

"Yeah," I said with a sad smile. "It is."

"We'll have to carry her back." he said, standing up. "She'll be out cold for a while . . . you take her feet, I'll take her hands."

"But . . . can't I stay in the forest for a while?"

"The forest isn't safe. You have to come with us. Who says the . . . you know, the _thing_ won't just come here again and finish you off for good?"

"But . . . then I have to protect the forest from it! I can't die while the forest still lives, and if you give me some more purification powder, I -"

"Listen, Leaf. Zelda68 doesn't want you to get hurt, you're her friend. She'll just ask some swordsmen to protect the forest for you."

". . . But . . . I don't even have anywhere to stay in the village. They said that my house could take months."

"Well, they haven't met Zelda68. She finished it today, and I think you'll appreciate it. Seriously."

I stared at him. He was right . . . but I couldn't just leave the forest!

"I know what you're going to say, but think about it this way." said the Guide. "If she were concious right now, she wouldn't let you stay. And if when she comes to she finds that you're still in danger and I've let you stay, she'll never forgive me and drag you back to the village herself. And believe me, you don't want to see her in a bad mood."

"I . . . alright, then. But is she heavy?"

The Guide smiled. "Not very, she's even skinnier than you at the moment!"

5


	16. Unconcious

I could hear . . . voices . . . why wouldn't my eyes open?

I was in pain . . . was I? Yes, I was.

Who was there?

Was it the . . . corrupted human? The one who controlled the shadows?

I let out a groan and the voices stopped. They seemed . . . happy . . . why were they happy that I had been stabbed in the back?

. . . I've been stabbed in the back?

Yes, I remember now . . . the forest . . . I was looking for Leaf, and then . . . there was blood . . . his and mine . . .

Was Leaf okay?

If the Guide had let him stay in the forest . . . well, he would have more than a few bruises by the end of the day.

But was it day?

It was dark . . .

Or were my eyes closed?

I opened them and found myself lying in a bed in a well lit room, with people crowding around me.

Who were they?

Were they my friends, or . . . well, I couldn't be too careful . . .

In an attempt to sit up pain spiked through me and I collapsed back onto the mattress. Oh, right, I'd been stabbed in the back . . . that had never happened before . . . it was more painful than I expected . . .

The voices began to escalate as I tried to get up again, and I had the feeling that I recognised them . . .

The figures were dark against the bright lights, but I noticed a silhouette with distinctly spiky hair . . .

The Guide! It was the Guide! Who else? Two were my height, one shorter and two taller . . .

In my mind, that made vague sense . . . I knew them, they were my friends . . . but which ones?

Why couldn't I think clearly? Did that stab in the back mess with my head as well?

I blinked and rubbed my eyes despite the pain it caused me and tried to speak, but all that came out was a confused moan. My ears began to work again, and I recognised the Guide's voice.

". . . Thank god she's alright!" This statement was followed by one startled gasp. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to say that, I meant to say . . . um . . ."

"Thank goodness?" suggested a voice that I suddenly recognised as Sarita's.

"Yes, that."

"Get her some more healing potion." came the mayor's voice. "She's had a rough day."

"Is she going to be alright?" came a concerned voice that sounded like Leaf's.

"She'll be fine." said one of the tall figures . . . who was that? Felix! Felix put his hand on Leaf's shoulder. "Like the Guide says, she's been through worse . . . actually Guide, what worse has she been through?"

"The Eye of Cthulhu." the Guide answered simply. "But other than that, the Eater of Worlds, the dungeon guardian, her first blood moon . . . the list goes on."

As my senses started working again, I smelt the familiar aroma of a healing potion being brewed. Eventually, the smell was right on top of me and I reached out for the potion, gulping it down immediately.

"They don't taste very good." came Leaf's voice. "She said that they tasted nice . . ."

"Anything tastes nice after a brush with death." I said, finding my voice. "Means your stomach is still working." Felix laughed, but everybody else stayed quiet.

"You feel alright?" asked the Guide nervously.

"Does anyone after being stabbed in the back? But considering, I'm on top of the world." Nobody said anything.

"Your humour's drying up." remarked Sarita. Brave girl.

"I apologise. Now, how long before I can sit up? I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

". . . You haven't." said the Guide. "You were unconscious for three days."

"Three? New record."

"No it isn't. Remember when you were knocked out by a tonne of sand falling on your head? You were under for a week."

"Really? I don't remember that . . . but I suppose that's not surprising."

"I'll get you some food." said the mayor. "What would you like?"

"At the moment I'd go for mushroom soup." I said sarcastically, but the Guide gasped dramatically and checked my forehead.

"You got a fever?"

"No, I'm delirious. But seriously, anything will do." The mayor rushed off to the kitchens, but I realised how dehydrated I was and added to the Guide "Actually, a glass of water would be nice."

"Sure." he said, hurrying down the corridor. He returned with a glass of water, put it beside me and bowed. "Oh, my wise and heroic master!"

"Shut up. But actually, maybe you could treat me with the respect I deserve right now."

"Fat chance!"

"Thank you very much!" Leaf said suddenly. "I love my house!"

"You're very welcome. But no going back to the forest for a while, okay?"

"Okay . . . but . . . the blinkroots. They keep blooming when I leave, and when I come back they're out again."

"That's unlucky, but I know how you feel. But don't worry – they'll keep blooming and going out forever. Until you pick them, they'll stay alive."

"Pick them?" Leaf asked, looking horrified. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, of you want seeds for whatever reason, they drop more than one so you'll always be up."

"But . . . well, I suppose that makes sense. But still . . ."

"Leaf, sorry to bring this up, but has the corruption on your arm spread?"

". . . Just an inch. Is there any way to get rid of it?"

"When the corruption goes, it'll go. But for the time being I can't do anything."

Leaf asked another question, but I suddenly found it difficult to talk.

Three days unconscious . . .

I either fell asleep or blacked out – either way, I felt slightly relieved.

The flashbacks that followed weren't as clear as usual, because everybody was trying to wake me up. I needed a rest, even though I'd been resting for three days . . .

**An Interlude**

Everybody panicked when she fainted. We had thought that she had been finally about to get up and stay up, but she needed a rest . . .

She _deserved_ a rest . . .

But it was strange of her to actually take the opportunity, consciously or not. Even that time she blacked out for a week she was back on her feet in no time.

But, I suppose, that was only because she caught the whiff of mushroom soup . . .

The thought of being forced to eat mushroom soup can make her do anything. When I found her after taking on the Eater of Souls, covered in blood, I carried her home but as soon as I mentioned dinner she almost killed herself trying to "escape".

I'd have thought she had enough enemies as is, adding mushroom soup to the mix seemed strange.

Sometimes she is so immature . . . where does she get it from? . . . Ah.

Me.

Oops.

But I'm not immature all of the time. A few days ago, I was _cool_. I launched myself at the shadows with a hunting knife.

That was cool.

It was hard to get over myself and worry about her when we got back to the village.

Actually, it wasn't.

Sometimes it was hard to stop worrying about her, even when she wasn't in danger . . . she had so many battle-scars that I honestly don't think she could handle more. She'd simply die if something else took a swing at her.

And then she had to go and get herself stabbed in the back . . .

I know she can protect herself, she's a hero for crying out loud, but she's also my good friend Zelda68.

In my head, I can't help but picture the Hero of Terraria and Zelda68 as two separate entities, even though Zelda68 _is_ the Hero of Terraria. They are the same person.

But two very different parts of the same person.

When I picture Zelda68, I don't picture swords and bows and giant eyes. I see the Zelda68 that would gulp down her mushroom soup and demand more, the Zelda68 that I know so well.

But sometimes it's hard not to let the bruised, battered and broken Zelda68 that had faced the Eye intrude on that image.

But that is her now . . .

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Before it was simple. Before it was "here's a pickaxe, get to know a sword and save Terraria by killing a demon and stopping the corruption.". Simple enough. Now, it's "you already know everything about battle, you're stuck in a new land with people who all believe in a ridiculous religion. A bunch of religious swordsmen want to come into the corruption with you, but they're actually rubbish at fighting the corruption and all have families at home. You're facing an enemy that can take swings at you whenever it likes and seems to be toying with you and oh, you're dead. You have to tell everyone because one day their lives may depend on it. Deal with it yourself.".

Why is everything getting harder? It just doesn't seem fair . . . sometimes I wish that I was a part of this lunatic religion so that I could just blame God and carry on.

But I have no-one to blame other than myself, because I'm not blaming Zelda68. It's her fault I'm here, but if I'd been left behind I'd never forgive her.

Ever.

I sat beside her bed, as I had almost constantly when she was unconscious. It had been a long few days . . . but she'd had longer.

I studied the muscles in her arms and sighed. I'd have to toughen up a bit for the  
>corruption . . .<p>

No.

She'd fought for Terraria so that I wouldn't have to toughen up.

What was the point doing it now? That meant that everything would go to waste . . . everything she'd worked so hard for . . . peace. But that was strange . . . peace was what she desired, what she was destined to bring, and everything she wanted . . . but then why wasn't she happy when she had it? Peace suddenly seemed unforgiving . . .

Heroes worked so hard for peace, but they weren't needed in peacetime . . .

You'd think that after how hard she worked for it it would have factored her in.

"Guide?" asked Christina's voice from the door. "Dinner's ready."

"Can you bring it in here? She might wake up."

"Sure." Christina sounded an odd mix of pitying, sympathy and uncertainty.

Why does everyone put that voice on around me?

Too many questions . . .

. . . Why?

**X X X**

When I came to again, it was morning. Another night without sleep . . . does being unconscious count as sleeping?

I suppose not.

The Guide was asleep in an armchair next to me, snoring loudly. I smiled. He didn't have to have stayed . . .

"Guide?" I asked, the smile not fading. "You awake?"

"No . . ." came the muffled response, the Guide slowly lifting his head. "Oh, sorry, you're awake! Congratulations!"

"Congratulations?"

"Uh . . . yeah. No. Good work. I mean . . ."

"Good?"

"Yes. Awake. Good. Right. Food?"

"Yes. Starving. Talk like this?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Food, come. Breakfast."

We walked to the kitchens, trying to stop ourselves laughing at nothing in particular. I felt dizzy and had to stop and lean against the wall a few times. The Guide looked worried I was going to collapse every time it happened, but I managed to stand upright. We walked into one of the many rooms leading off the main corridor of carvings, the room containing nothing but a large table covered with food of every kind. The door between the carvings of facing off numerous skeletons and finding a vein of topaz in the cavern.

Everybody was in there waiting for us – the mayor, Sarita, Christina (with Amethyst), Felix (both to represent the swordsmen and to eat with his fiance) and Leaf. All of them let out cheers of joy and approval when they saw us at the door, muffled by the food most of them were halfway through eating.

I gave a weak smile and sat down, the Guide sitting next to me and giving me a pat on the shoulder. I immediately reached for the toast across the table and grabbed a piece of cheese. I did this instinctively because I recognised the toast, having eaten it rarely in Terraria as opposed to being practically alien.

Cheese was new, but I knew that it tasted nice with toast . . .

"Where does cheese come from?" I asked absent-mindedly.

"Actually, no-one knows." replied Sarita with raised eyebrows, staring at her food. "Apparently the village made it hundreds of years ago naturally, but after a while whatever technique it was that we used to make it was lost so now our mages just duplicate it with magic."

". . . So . . . if you accidentally eat it all, that's it gone forever?"

"Well, yeah. But we're careful."

"So . . . where does toast come from? What about Eggs? Chocolate?"

"Dunno. Plants, I guess."

We ate our breakfast in silence, nobody wanting to upset me while I was still recovering. Somebody was going to eventually . . . I could feel the guilt radiating off Felix for coming today, he knew he was making me think about an important and impossible decision I had to make.

Important and impossible . . .

Why did so many things fall under that category?

Everybody's thoughts were interrupted when Amethyst began to cry and Christina went away to feed her, insisting Felix stay and finish his breakfast.

"She'd rather I ate myself to death instead of missing a meal." revealed Felix as soon as Christina was out of earshot. A few laughs responded, my own causing pain to spike through my back and me to crumple to the ground in pain.

Hands immediately appeared and helped me up and I insisted I was fine. They protested and I was pulled back into my seat with much fussing.

I really hate it when people fuss . . .

I'm used to taking care of myself . . . when people fuss . . . it's just strange. I've taught myself . . . myself. That I may be a hero, but that's just me. That I . . . have to be tough. That's my job . . . to be tough . . .

Or pretend to be tough at least.

That's what I do most of the time.

. . . Does that mean that everyone thinks of me as tough? I'm not. Felix and the swordsmen are tough. The Guide is tough. Guide? Tough? How did I get that into my head?

No . . . he was tough. He was very, very tough.

He wasn't made for heroics and corruption and my whole thing.

And yet . . . he was the one who finished off that Eater of Souls when the swordsman's arrow missed. He had been quicker than me.

He was made to Guide, and I'd dragged him along and turned him into another hero.

"Stop thinking about me!" suddenly came the Guide.

"I wasn't!" I said, blushing as much as a dead person can.

"You were, I can tell!"

"How?"

"You have this look on your face – almost the I-Know-Something-You-Don't-And-Am-Debating-How-Much-I-Can-Tell-You look, but more like the . . . I dunno. The _Guide_ look."

I grumbled something and continued eating, but the Guide kept watching me. "You don't want me to come with you, do you?"

"You know I don't."

"Why not?"

"Let's not start this again."

"But really, you never said." All of the eyes in the room were trained on us, some slowly getting up to leave. I looked around and sighed, putting my head in my hands.

"Leave her alone for now," Sarita suggested. "She's just been stabbed by a demon and don't forget how much is resting on her shoulders."

"No, don't worry." I said, waving her off.

". . . Yeah? Why can't I come with you?" the Guide piped in, sensing his moment.

"Because . . . listen, I don't want you to end up like me."

"I'm not going to die!"

"I know, but . . . look, I've been trying to fix it, but more than my body is dead. I'm dead. Who I used to be and who I am now. I used to be the teenager who ate mushroom soup every day and had no idea how to use a sword, look at me now."

"Everybody changes."

"Not just like that. More than that. Way more."

"Do you think I haven't noticed?" I turned to him, startled. "You used to laugh at me every day, you used to come up with ridiculously terrible jokes that'd have me in stitches, you're the reason I'm such a . . . Guide."

"No, I'm not. You were like that anyway."

"I wasn't. We fed off each-other's terrible senses of humour, mule-headedness and other things that used to be your major characteristics until we became big barrels of overconfidence, but your very first blood moon spooked all of those things out of you."

"And I don't want that to happen to you!" I cried.

"Oh, you want me to stay the naïve idiot that's never killed something bigger than an Eater of Souls?"

"NO! DON'T YOU GET IT? My duty as a hero is to let that happen to me and keep everyone else safe! You shouldn't die fighting for me, I'm the one who dies fighting for you! That's me! That's who I am!"

". . . But . . ."

"No! I bleed so that others don't have to bleed, I'm not some big-shot that has to walk around with security guards! Letting you come with me goes against everything that makes me a HERO!"

"Then maybe you should let someone else be a hero too! I don't have to be the innocent guy you have to protect, I can be a hero!"

I stared at him.

He was right.

He had found a flaw in my defence, and now that he had exploited it it made perfect sense. I stared at him, going over what he had just said an infinite number of times until everyone else finished their breakfast and left apart from Felix.

"Can I be a hero as well?" asked Felix, me and the Guide turning to him.

"Yes." I said simply. "Now hurry and tell the others to start training, before I confuse myself again."

Felix left almost immediately, and the Guide and I resumed what quickly became a staring contest.

Which I won.

7


	17. Messages from God

They weren't as bad as I remembered.

Second time in the corruption,they were much better. All of the Eater of Souls fell to the ground at once, and the three devourers that had appeared so far had been riddled with arrows before I cut them to pieces.

Things seemed to be going well . . .

After a few more weeks of training, we might be able to set off. The Guide said I was being too cautious, but I don't want them to get hurt. They might be aspiring heroes, but they haven't saved anyone or anywhere other than themselves yet, so I considered myself the ringleader.

I think they considered me more general than ringleader . . .

But I had made an important decision. Everyone felt the same sense of duty to nature as me, and I would offer them the chance to come with us. If they had enough skill with swords or bows, there were only a handful of swordsmen and while I saved Terraria alone this place would be a different story.

The village is getting better, but it's killing itself year after year. While I've been here, the population has gone up by five. It's climbing fast . . . but this stupid religion is making it decrease as much as the corruption.

No . . . it's not the religion that's the problem, it's the fact that believers refuse to accept the non-believers.

I plan to fix that.

And if my plan doesn't work, I'm sure Sarita will be just as capable as me.

"Out of the way!" called Kilgan, the blonde swordsman. "Robert, you're standing right in-front of my arrow!"

"Oh – sorry!" called one of the others, stepping out of the way.

"Look sharp!"I called. "There's a devourer coming! And a big one!"

"A big one?" called the Guide desperately. "And what were all of the other ones we've killed?"

"Practically pygmy! This one'll be three times as big!"

"What? I've read all about them, they don't get bigger than ten metres!"

"Well, whoever wrote that book needed to g-" I was cut off when a devourer lunged out of the ground. It's jaw alone was five metres wide, although it got smaller as it went on. It was almost worthy of an Eater of Worlds. It's slender body was impossibly long, and by the time it's head lunged into the ground again it would be a long while before we saw the tip of it's tail.

The Guide swore violently, jumping out of the way and trying to shoot at the body. I didn't like guns, they took so long to get ready. By the time he had it ready, the head had lunged out again but we had not yet seen the tail.

What was I going to do with this one?

It's neck (not neck, it's whole body would be a neck if it had a neck . . .) was too thick to cut . . . and an arrow wouldn't do it much damage . . .

Oh well . . .

My back was still in pain from the incident in the forest, but it looked like I was going to go through more pain.

But who was counting?

Other than the Guide . . .

I grabbed the large circular shield that I had on my back and held it in one hand. I suddenly, vehemently decided that I like shields.

Shields are good.

But this one would go through some damage.

Sorry, shield.

The fearsome creature dived for me and I raised my shield above my head. As soon as I felt the creature contacting with the shield, trying to bite into it and my arms tingling at the weight of it, I jumped out and left the creature with a shield lodged in it's mouth, unable to bite through it or spit it out.

Easy.

Apart from the fact that my arms were almost crushed, and I knew that although they just tingled a bit now they would ache and bruise for ages after now. But anyway;

The devourer surfaced immediately, the soil forcing the shield further down it's throat and only causing it more pain. It's scream made the others wince and all but few covered their ears, and it writhed and thrashed. I have to emphasise on the fact that it had a piece of iron the exact size of it's throat (when it was trying to bite) lodged in a very painful position.

The little I knew about the logic of the corruption told me what had happened. It had dived, but it was weak when it had and the soil had refused to move for it. The dirt pushed the shield further down it's throat, and it came up.

It didn't care that it might die.

So it did.

It was punctured by arrows and I finished it off with my sword.

"I think that's enough for today." I announced, sheathing my sword and the others their bows. "Over the border."

We walked over the border. I hadn't told them my decision . . .

I'm rubbish at speeches . . .

But I'd have to make one. We were halfway back to the village before I summed up the courage . . .

"Listen. This village needs all the help it can get, and I want you to find more people. Men, or particularly skilful women. Swordsmen. People who are willing to be heroes and understand the risks that they're taking by being heroes. I need people to purify the ground around the village, and I need people good with building and digging for something special. Okay?"

"I don't get it," said Kilgan. "A week ago, you refused to let anyone come with you. What's changed?"

"A lot. Head home, spread the word."

As we headed back to the village we were met with an excited Sarita.

"What is it?" I asked. "What's so exciting?"

"Well, in the last few weeks we found a few "signs from God" that apparently "fell out of the sky"." Sarita explained.

"And?"

"I think they . . . well, we know they're not messages from God, but I think I know what they are."

"They weren't planted?"

"No. They're in the church now, come and see."

"Wha-"

"Come on!"

Me and the Guide hurried after her, unsure what to think. What was she talking about? The Guide said as much, and I shrugged. She was a few steps ahead of us, moving at a pace that made it hard to think.

But really, what was she on about?

If the messages from god weren't plants from religion-obsessed maniacs, what were they?

They "fell from the sky". Which they didn't.

But if they did . . .

Could they be . . .

"What are you thinking?" asked the Guide. "You're thinking!"

I glared at him. "You're permanently thinking, and I don't complain about it!"

We arrived in-front of the church. It was a grand building of stone and marble, with a steeple that reached far into the sky. The front of it was dominated by a stain-glass window depicting a man in a cloak with a halo, which cast coloured lights all over the neatly trimmed front courtyard. It dominated the village square, even next to the grand house of the mayor.

"Are we going in?" I asked, slightly nervously. "I think some of the people in there might hold a grudge against me."

"No people in there." Sarita answered easily. "Service is over. Maybe a couple praying, but not many."

"But what exactly are we doing here?" the Guide asked impatiently. "If the messages from god aren't just plants, what do you think they are?" A woman holding a child glared at the Guide and he held up his hands, a guilty expression on his face.

"Careful what you say," advised Sarita. "In case you haven't noticed, they don't like it when people insult their cult."

"You say cult and you don't get any funny looks." remarked the Guide.

"Nobody's paying any attention to me, you're a spectacle. Come on, in."

The three of us entered the church and found the inside just as grand as the outside. It was all marble and quartz, with carvings no doubt done by the mayor lining the walls. A set of long benches was on either side of the giant room, with few figures sitting with their heads down.

As we walked past them, being lead by Sarita, I couldn't help but notice that all but one of the figures was over the age of sixty. The other was a small boy, inevitably brought by his grandmother, whose head was hidden not because he was praying but because it was in his hands. I shot him a sympathetic look and continued walking all the way onto the stage, wondering why exactly we were here. A few seconds ago I had seemed close to realising, but the serenity and perfectness of this place was messing with my head.

Everything was so perfect . . .

Not a speck of dust on anything, not a ridge in the stone, nothing.

God, I hated it . . .

Whenever I walked into a building in Terraria, I would think about all of the imperfections. I'd remind myself to fill in a crack, seal a window or sand some rough wood. I would remember when it was I started building it and why, and I would feel nostalgic and want to build another.

But, no matter what I did, I wouldn't seal every window or fill in every crack or sand all of the wood, because once you did that the building would be perfect.

And then I wouldn't think about a building as I entered it, I would just accept it and treat it not as a building built by me for a purpose, but as something that was now finished and I wouldn't have to worry about.

It would be perfect, it would have no character and no history.

Like here.

I hated it here.

I wanted to leave.

_ What am I doing here?_

I barely manage to stop myself from voicing these thoughts as I suddenly find myself speechless.

Behind the altar is a chest made from pure gold. It had been carved with patterns so delicate and . . . _perfect_ that it seemed to glow.

Here, perfect was a good thing.

If perfect meant gold.

Or gemstone.

But . . . gold.

The Guide and Sarita hadn't even paused in walking towards the chest, and only stopped to smirk at my amazement.

_Four skeletons were right on-top of me before I could blink._

_ Why did I have to stop and stare?_

_ Sure, it was a chest made of gold, and a beautiful one at that, but I was in the middle of a cavern that I still couldn't find a way out of. If worse came to worse I'd have to stay down here for a month or two, but that would be a welcome distraction from my current predicament._

_ By which I mean being a zombie._

_ No!_

_ No, stop thinking about that!_

_ I'm alive!_

_ Look! Walking talking breathing alive!_

_ But I won't be for much longer if these skeletons don't leave me alone . . ._

_ I had them on the ground, piles of bones, before I could register the fact that I was in pain._

_ One of them had stabbed me. The undead miner had stabbed me with a pickaxe . . ._

_ Ow._

_ Ow!_

_ I collapsed to the ground, clutching my stomach . . . everything seemed blurry . . . I was going to black out . . ._

_ "Hey!" came gruff voice from behind me. "You alright, kid? What are you doing down here?"_

_ I turned, unable to register the words in my brain and found myself facing someone familiar . . ._

_ The Demolitionist?_

_ What was he doing down here?_

_ I blacked out . . ._

_ . . . And when I came to, the Demolitionist had dragged me into a shelter and bandaged my stomach with bandages that smelt of gunpowder._

_ "Wha . . ." I began, and he turned to face me._

_ "Y'know, I thought that a hero like you would get up in under an hour."_

_ I glared at him. Why did he have to judge everything I did? "Hey, forgive me if being stabbed kind of keeps me under for a while!"_

_ "I've been stabbed an infinity of times and I hardly ever black out anymore. And I'm not a hero -"_

_ "No, you're just an innocent demolitionist who loses a limb every day, whose house I built and -"_

_ "Okay, okay, no offence. But what're ya doin' here? You disappear every day, but you haven't gone mining since before you fought the eye."_

_ I wince at the mention of the beast, but he doesn't seem to notice. The Demolitionist never was very sensitive . . . "Well, what are you doing here?" I retort easily. "I've never known you to go down to the cavern layer."_

_ "Cavern layer?"_

_ "My own name . . . where everything is stone, not dirt, but before everything is lava and there are Fire Imps you can't see shooting at you from all sides."_

_ "Right, right. That makes sense. I don't go down this far that often, but here I am."_

_ "And here I am."_

_ We stared at each-other for a moment, out of conversation as usual. However, we were both miners and the first thing we said, in unison, was;_

_ "That chest is mine!"_

"Still a miner, eh?" asked the Guide, returning me to reality. "Under all of that heroic stuff, you'd stop to gape at gold, even though you've seen it hundreds of times before and have enough of it to build a village?"

"Well, I was hardly expecting it!" I said in defence, failing to sound offended. "It's beautiful! Pure, 24 carat gold!"

"24 what? Carrots?"

"Guide, you now nothing about gold. This is . . . pure gold. No alloy, no . . . nothing. I had no idea that this village even had good enough miners to get this!"

"It doesn't anymore." Sarita said, looking at the chest with admiration. "A few-hundred years ago, there was a sort of mining frenzy around here. It died out after about fifty years, and most of the stuff made back then . . . I dunno, got lost. This is one of few things left from that period."

"How do you lose something so lovely? It's so . . . perfect."

"Well, I think some of them became family heirlooms. My mum has a gold cross with gemstones in it."

"Seriously? Wow . . . what's a cross?"

"It's a religious thing. Shame, really."

"Yeah . . . but anyway, what's in the chest?"

"So-called messages from God. There've been a lot lately. But listen, I think they really did fall from the sky."

"What? How?"

"Presumably the same way you did."

". . . You mean . . . you think . . ."

"Yeah, I think I've found your stuff!" Sarita opened the chest . . .

. . . Everything was there.

My sword . . . my pickaxe . . . axe, bow, grappling hook . . .

. . . Everything.

Everything . . .

Except . . .

Where was my necklace?

The Guide had given me a necklace on my first birthday in Terraria, my fifteenth . . . until now I hadn't let it out of my sight . . .

It was so special . . .

More than any gold or gemstone . . .

It was my most precious possession even though it was worth nothing.

It was just a little pendant, tiny . . . and it had what the Guide had thought was a ruby set in it. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was just a shard of hellstone . . .

But that made it even more precious.

I didn't even think about all of the things I had been wanting to see since I landed here, I didn't even feel good about it . . .

I rummaged through the box, pulling things out and fishing through the chest, cutting myself on my weapons but not caring . . .

Sarita was asking me not to thank her, the Guide was asking what I was looking  
>for . . . he already knew . . .<p>

Did I really have to tell him?

I reached the bottom of the chest with no sight of the necklace and swore under my breath.

"What is it, what?" asked the Guide, nervous. "What can't you find? I can see everything there."

"No, you can't."

"What's missing?"

". . . The necklace. The one you gave me."

". . . Oh . . ."

"Is it really that important?" Sarita asked, concerned.

"I gave it to her on her first birthday in Terraria -"

"And I haven't let it out of my sight since." I finished for him.

Where was it?

I remember . . .

The Eye of Cthulhu . . . lying on the ground, trying to get myself up . . . trying to find the strength . . .

. . . And finding it in the necklace.

6


	18. Concocting a Ridiculous Scheme

That damned necklace . . .

Where was it?

All of my other things were found by the villagers in a matter of days, even the tiny blinkroot seeds that had been at the bottom of my pouch . . .

But, somehow, a faintly glowing necklace had been missed.

Unless it wasn't here . . .

Maybe it was still on the floating island . . .

I found myself on this grave train of thought walking around on the edge of the corruption, looking for the necklace. Everything else had been found from the edges of the corruption to the edge of the village, so it would be here, wouldn't it?

I'd been looking for hours . . .

Could it be up on the island? My coins, daybloom seeds and a featherfall potion had been up there . . .

But why had they been up there? I mean, if the featherfall potion hadn't been up there I would've mixed a couple, and that would've taken forever . . .

And in that forever this village would've died. Half of it would've been corrupted by the time I got down, and all the people from here I know would've been dead or  
>homeless . . .<p>

So it was ridiculously lucky that I'd found it . . . but why had it been there?

If it had been an archery potion and not a featherfall potion then . . . well, then the village would've died, as I'd just realised.

. . . But wait . . .

I . . . I didn't carry a featherfall potion in my pouch . . .

So what had it been doing there?

I looked up at the island, which as per usual was floating ominously and casting it's shadow over some of the hills bordering the village.

There were secrets in that place . . .

And I would uncover them.

Like I had this place, although admittedly not by choice.

The walk into the village left me undisturbed by the Guide – he would be at the library as usual. Maybe I could build him his own library in Terraria, for his birthday or something . . . if we ever got back . . .

I had never doubted it before, and the thought made me blink and stop in my tracks in the village square.

No, we were getting back.

Terraria was our home, it was where we were born, and it was where we would end up after all of this was over.

What was going on there, anyway?

The others would be looking for us . . .

But . . .

We'd only been gone about a week, although it felt like months. Would they just assume that I'd gone underground, as usual, and the Guide had gone to . . . I dunno, gone to the dungeon to find some more books?

I'd hate to see the looks on their faces when they realised that we weren't in Terraria anymore . . .

But no, they probably noticed that we weren't there. I'd have told them if I was going underground . . .

But I didn't last time, and I was gone for about a month . . .

I continued walking until I reached the large storage shed next to the mayor's house. He had everything in there, from lava to dayblooms to deathweed seeds. Everything except purification powder, and of course I had no shortage of that. And, most likely, he had meteorite. In face, I knew I'd seen half a meteor in there the other day.

I needed meteorite.

I'd done this before, it was simple. Meteorite was the strongest material in the world, and with it I could get up onto the floating island.

Maybe my necklace was there . . .

And if it was, I would find it.

I went into the large storeroom, trying to find the meteor I had seen the other day. I walked among the towering piles of what some might see as junk, unsure if I should think it was. There were mounds of mud and sand, useless to anyone except me and presumably the mayor. I found the meteor and was walking up to it when I saw something even better in the corner of my eye.

Long, cylindral strips of the strong material leaning up against the wall. Perfect.

Time to build a ladder.

**An Interlude**

I walked out of the library, clutching my new dictionary in one hand. It had been on sale, and it wasn't any ordinary dictionary, it was the longest book I'd ever seen.

Over 1000 pages.

Amazing.

It had been love at first sight.

I, the Guide, had a 1000-page dictionary . . .

If Zelda68 could see me now, I'd never hear the end of it. Clutching a 1000-page dictionary . . . but then again, was she in good enough spirits to tease me? She'd loved that necklace, even though she owns a million things that are worth more.

I suppose she, as well as me, saw the necklace as symbol of our friendship. Back then, she was somewhere between the sarcastic, cocky kid and the grim hero. But even then I refused to believe that she would change more than she already had. It was in the fear that she would that I gave her the necklace, so that she would look at it and think back to when she was . . . Zelda68.

Which she did.

But now . . .

Where in the world was it? Was it somewhere else in this land? How big exactly is it? 90% of it is corrupted, anyway . . . but over those hills, how big was it? As big as Terraria? Bigger?

Too many questions . . . and too much land to search for one necklace.

But, of course, Zelda68 wouldn't realise that. She would concoct some daft scheme with a million little holes and would either expect me to help her with it or keep it completely secret.

And if she didn't ask me for help by the end of the day, I would know she was up to something and I would uncover it. It had happened before . . . she lost her entire _pouch_ and schemed to get it back by setting up a _skybridge_. An entire skybridge, just for the junk in there (she had everything important stored in treasure chests).

But, of course, she was halfway through the bridge by the time I figured out what she was doing. And when I pointed out that it would be hard to spot her pouch from up there she pretended to give up but when I wasn't looking did some research and mixed a spelunker potion with a night owl potion and a hunter potion, creating her own "Hawkeye Potion" to look for the pouch.

And she found it.

Simple as that.

She would never lose something. She was a damn scavenger, she'd never throw anything away, and thanks to that pouch of hers she'd never have to. And now something very important to her had gone missing . . .

By dinner, whatever daft scheme she'd come up with would have been put into effect, and then nothing would stop her. What was she going to do? Make a beanstalk with a lookout on top? That seemed ridiculous, but it was no doubt what she was planning. Or maybe . . . I don't know! She could convince herself it was anywhere after a while.

She'd be planning to go to wherever it was, even if she thought it was in the heart of the corruption . . .

In fact, I'd better find her before she decided to go there, wherever there was.

I picked up the pace, heading for the mayor's house. She used her room there for every type of crafting, from . . . well, everything. Casting spells to plant-pots. If she was building something, it would be in there.

Interrupting my train of thought as I neared the house, the subject of my internal conversation walked inside carrying many long blue poles that seemed to glow.

Oh god, meteorite.

That was a sure sign that she was about to do something stupid.

I didn't call out to her – although I was worried about her . . . 1000-page dictionary. She'd never let it go . . . would she? She was different now . . . but she was still the person who nearly died of laughter when she found me shouting at that old dictionary for ending. But it had been so short . . . who could blame me?

Apart from her back then . . .

And possibly now. Better safe than sorry.

I couldn't help but smirk when she struggled to get the ends of the poles into the doorway, no doubt worried that she was going to scratch the mayor's carvings. And, as we both knew from experience, when something was scratched with meteorite it didn't end well.

I needed to know what she was up to . . .

Maybe the dictionary would have to wait.

**X X X**

It would be a few more hours before the ladder was ready, and by then the sun would probably be down, which meant that the moon would be up, which meant the growing number of zombies would be looking for food and might shake the ladder down.

So the ladder might have to wait until tomorrow.

The floating island would have to wait until tomorrow.

I didn't want to wait . . . I'd probably never get the chance to go if I had to wait. The Guide had no doubt realised I was up to something, and he'd have stopped me by tomorrow . . .

Unless I told him the truth. It was an alternative that I rarely used, but if I did he might understand and let me go.

It was worth a shot.

. . . Wasn't it?

Yes. I lie to him often enough, maybe it's time to balance it out . . . in times like this, the truth is good. The truth is safe.

The truth keeps you alive . . . it has me and him in the past.

By sunset, I had at least half-finished the ladder. It was hard enough to find a room long enough to let me do work on the poles, and even harder to get them in through the doorway. And the carvings on the wall were very fitting, depicting a shadow orb being smashed and my first meteor falling to Terraria . . . and then the meteor heads.

Those meteor heads hadn't been any real danger to me, but they'd scared me to death. I mean . . . I was hardly expecting to find the meteor on-top of one of my old houses, and when I went to mine it those things appeared and tried to kill me!

Forgive me for being scared! There was something about those meteor heads, they were . . . it was like they weren't alive, even though they certainly acted like it. They were just rocks and lava, being controlled, no doubt, by the . . . the Eye of Cthulhu.

I paused in my work, surprised at even being able to think the name of the demon without shivering.

Maybe I was getting better . . .

But how could anyone completely recover from that?

I abandoned these thoughts and continued making the ladder. I was using magic to saw small lengths off one of the poles and connecting them between two other poles. It would be a ladder soon enough, but it would have to be almost a mile high to reach the mountains bordering the floating island, but I'd done it before.

Back in Terraria, I had built a ladder up to one of the islands for a dare. It had taken month, but that was because back then I was no good at spells and I had to connect the rods with string. That was the problem with meteorite – it was the strongest material in existence. That was also the best thing about it, but it was a problem when it came to building.

I sat there for another couple of hours, working the poles together. I might have to shrink the ladder with magic and then enlarge it outside . . . in fact, I'd definitely have to. Which meant I could actually do the work in miniature, and that'd save an awful lot of meteorite . . .

However, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. It took almost an hour to shrink all of the meteorite down . . . and by then, it was long past time for dinner.

"Zelda68!" came a voice from down the corridor leading off the room I was in. "Where are you? What are you doing? You have to eat, dinner's getting cold! Come on, I've been looking for you for ages! Stop doing whatever you're doing! Zelda68!"

"I'm in here." I called weakly, my voice sore from all of the spell-chanting.

He might as well know . . .

"I've been looking for you for ages!" said the Guide, appearing at the doorway. "Dinner's ready, and has been ready for a while now . . . what are you doing in here?"

"Er . . ."

"Tell me the truth. It's a safer alternative when you're putting your own life on the line."

"I'm not putting my life on the line! My plan is relatively safe."

"Relatively?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing this is the plan to get your necklace back, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Can you focus on the positive side of things for once? You've got all of your old things back, from the Starfury to the Night's Edge. Plus, what is that I see secured to your belt? It's a pickaxe. Your old pickaxe, safe and sound. Hellstone radiating heat, meteorite making it strong and making it glow, and copper and wood plated with gold underneath."

"Yeah, I know! That's all well and good, but something very important is missing!"

"And why is it so important?"

I stared at him. "You know why! It . . . it . . . you gave it to me before everything went . . . I . . ." I throw my hands in the air in a useless gesture. "You know!"

"Yes, I do. It's a symbol of our friendship."

"Exactly!"

"But why does our friendship need symbolising if we see each-other and express it every day?"

". . . Because . . ."

"Look, you want to find it and I respect that, but how do you have any idea where it is?"

"I think it's on the floating island."

"What? Why?"

". . . Because . . . there's something about that place. It has secrets that I haven't uncovered yet, and I intend to."

"How?"

"Well, think about it. If we hadn't found the featherfall potion, we'd still be stuck up there waiting for the potions to mature, and same thing with the lucky horseshoe." I said, indicating towards the horseshoe around my neck.

"So maybe we were lucky, simple as that."

"No, but Guide . . . listen."

"Is it something freaky?"

"How'd you know?"

"I always know. So?"

"Well . . . Guide, I didn't carry a featherfall potion in my pouch."

". . . Oh. So . . . you're saying someone put it there for us? Who?"

". . . This sounds ridiculous, but I think that the demon that controls the shadows did."

"What? Why would something that wants us, and everyone in this land dead would help us?"

"I don't know! It's just a feeling."

The Guide sighed. "I've learned to trust your feelings Zelda68, but it does seem a bit silly."

"Okay, forget I ever said it! But also, I wore two things around my neck, remember? The lucky horseshoe and the necklace. So, if the horseshoe was there then maybe the necklace is as well."

"Okay, so . . . oh no. Not another meteorite ladder!"

"Yes another meteorite ladder!" I said, rubbing my forehead. "The last one worked just fine!"

"Yes, it did, but that was against all of the odds!"

"No it wasn't. Why wouldn't it have worked?"

"Because . . ."

"Look, meteorite is the strongest material in existence, even stronger than obsidian. It'll never break."

"I know, I'm the one who told _you_ that."

"Exactly. It'll be a bit hard to prop up and it'll have to go a fair way into the ground, but it'll work a treat, just like last time."

"I still don't think –"

"Look, can you think of something better?"

". . . I suppose not. But come on – dinner."

I walked to the doorway with a sigh. "Sorry." I said.

"No need to be. We've all been through hell recently . . . oh, and I think you were right earlier."

"I always am . . . right about what?"

"About getting as many people as possible to help." replied the Guide with a smirk.

"Was I?" I asked with a desperate frown. "I'm only dragging them into more  
>trouble . . ."<p>

"Look, this is different from Terraria. Here there is a whole town of people all wanting to fight for their land, and I think you should let them. Terraria was a feat, even for you and you're a hero but here there are people that can help."

"I guess." I said, unconvinced.

Will I ever be convinced?

6


	19. Paper Planes

**An Interlude**

Honestly, sometimes I think she's mad . . . but she's also . . . well, she's amazing.

But really, a ladder up to the floating island?

It's the maddest thing I've ever heard . . . but it also makes complete sense. It's either the maddest or the most genius thing I've ever heard.

That's what I've narrowed it down to, anyway.

Sometimes it's very hard to tell . . .

She attracted a small crowd walking through the town with her "small" ladder, the Guide and the mayor at her sides. Me, mum and Amethyst stayed behind slightly, as our suddenly becoming so close to the mayor and our new hero was raising a few eyebrows.

But, at home, mum was acting like nothing had happened. My doubting God had been forgiven, or so it seemed. No way to be sure . . . neither of us wanted to talk about it.

But little Amethyst was growing up fast. She was starting to crawl, and it was so cute . . .

But the whole thing with Felix was a bit odd. Mum didn't want him to go, she said it was because she didn't want him to get hurt . . .

But we all knew that it was really because she didn't want him to end up like dad.

If he was dead.

There was no way of telling, really . . .

But anyway, most crowd of the hanged back within the edges of the village, but a few civilians and two swordsmen followed us all the way into the shadow of the island. The mayor (who was a fully qualified mage (the Guide insisted that he do it when he found out)) was casting a number of . . . spells, I suppose, on the ladder and it grew and grew until it was the size of a normal ladder only much, much higher.

Ridiculously high.

It was amazing . . . it glowed. I had never seen meteorite before, other than on Zelda68's sword and pickaxe (and a few other items) but this was amazing.

"Why meteorite?" I asked the Guide. "Why not obsidian?"

"Meteorite's stronger." he answered simply. "It's the strongest material in existence, obsidian is the second most."

"But meteorite is harder to find, yes?"

"Well, I'd say they're about the same – smashing a shadow orb or mixing lava with water."

"Shadow orb?"

"Well, the mayor had some meteorite spare. So actually it's no work or –"

"Mixing lava with water, yeah."

The mayor continued chanting in a strange tongue and Zelda68 looked unsure to touch the ladder. After a minute, the mayor finished and opened his eyes, closing the book of spells.

"Feel free." he said with a smile. "Sure you don't need magical help to lift it up?"

"Yeah, this'll be quicker. Oh – have a Restoration potion. You look exhausted. You two," she said, indicating to the swordsmen. "Kilgan and . . . sorry, what's your name?"

"Robert." answered the brown-haired swordsman. "Ma'am. Miss. I mean . . ."

"Don't worry. Robert, Kilgan, help me lift it. Oh, and have any of you spread the word?"

"I have." said Kilgan, raising a hand as if talking to a teacher. "My brother and my cousin want to come."

"Excellent. Tell me about them later. Anyway, let's get this ladder up!"

It took ten minutes, much heaving and many offers from the mayor to get the ladder up, but once it was it reached the exact top of one of the mountains bordering the floating island.

"Good work!" said Zelda68, out of breath. "To you too, mayor."

"All in a day's work." said the mayor with a grin. "Well, it isn't, but it'd be fun if it was. Oh, and I'm coming with you."

"What?"

"I'm coming on the floating island with you! I put all of this work into the ladder, I want to see what's inside those mountains!"

". . . Well . . . okay, fair enough."

"I'm coming too!" I announced.

"What? Well . . . okay . . . Christina?"

My mother stared at me. "Why do you want to go?"

"Mum, that island's been looming over us since before I was born. I want to see what it really looks like!"

". . . Alright, but be back by lunch." I smiled.

The Guide cleared his throat, turning heads in his direction. "I'm not coming. I've spent enough time up there, and last time I had to climb one of these ladders I almost fell off a billion times."

"Okay . . ." said Zelda68 with a sigh. "Sarita, you take my lucky horseshoe." she took off her neck and handed me her horseshoe. "And mayor -"

"I'll be fine!" the mayor insisted, waving her off. "Now come on, let's go."

"Er . . ." I began. "Can I go in the middle? I, um . . . don't want anyone looking up my skirts."

"Okay, fair enough." said Zelda68 with a smirk. "But if you want to do something like this again, get some pants, yeah?"

"Yeah." I said with a smile. "Sure."

**X X X**

I went first, then Sarita, then the mayor. I gave Robert and Kilgan some archery potions in case of harpies, and I forced a featherfall potion into the mayor's hands.

I don't want anyone to fall.

I fell first time I tried to climb the ladder, but I made a small, deep pond at the base of the ladder just in case. Why hadn't I done that this time? It wasn't Sarita I was worried about, she was young, but the mayor was an old man. What if he lost his grip?

I supposed I shouldn't doubt him, he'd proved himself worthy of his respect, but it was still hard to expect that much of a man his age. He was the oldest person I knew, even if he acted younger than me.

Maybe I should've thought this through . . . I'm such a pushover . . .

We were about halfway up the ladder when I heard the familiar cry of a harpey diving at us, or rather, me. I looked down just in time to see arrows zooming past me and hitting the harpey dead-centre. Sarita gave a small gasp as the harpey fell past her, but the mayor's face remained carefully expressionless.

"Don't worry about the harpies," I called down. "Let's just get to the top before the archery potions wear off."

"Easier said than done." muttered Sarita as I sped up.

"No," said the mayor. "Easier to complain than do."

The harpies continued diving at us, but the swordsmen took care of them. It was only when we reached the top of the ladder when I felt sure that the 4-minute duration of the archery potions had worn off, and I felt sure that it was time for a harpey to swoop . . .

When I heard the bird-like cry I had only just climbed off the ladder, and I took my bow off and drew an arrow out of my quiver just before a feather embedded itself in the stone at my feet, and when I shot the harpey it almost knocked me backward and down the mountainside, the carcass flying over my head.

Sarita gave a small cry, then burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked, unable to keep the smile off my face.

"Sorry," she said, grinning ear-to-ear. "I need to get used to this life of yours."

"Do you? I would've thought you were quite comfortable with your own life. Why borrow mine? Mine is a lot more dangerous."

". . . Well, my old one was a lot more boring. And I'd say all of us are sharing your life now."

"Hm . . . do you think it's bad that I'm making so many people live like me?"

"You're not making anyone do anything, we choose to share it with you. We _want_ to share it with you."

I smiled, offering her a hand off the ladder.

"Best get up quick, there'll be more than one harpey next time!" I said cheerily.

The mayor needed no help up, or at least pretended not to. He always seemed so determined to prove that age wasn't a hindrance, even though I begged to differ.

I've only lived for about four years, and every day has taken it's toll . . . but I suppose it's different being raised by a family, being raised to believe that you don't have to do anything until you're a certain age, have others do things for you . . .

I couldn't live like that.

I shot down the harpeys preparing to dive and began the long, unsteady walk down the mountainside with Sarita and the mayor behind me. The two were exhausted by the time we were halfway down, and I handed them each a bottle of water.

"When will we get back?" Sarita asked. "Mum wanted me to be back for lunch, but . . ."

"I think you'll be a bit late." I admitted. "More like dinner. But . . . well, yeah. Dinner. In fact, you might have to spend the night here."

"Really?" she asked, looking slightly disappointed.

"Do you think she'll mind?"

"You don't know her, she'll worry her head off. This sounds stupid, but if I headed back and told her I was going to be late . . ."

"Don't we have any way of letting her know?" I asked desperately. "If I headed back up and tried to . . . I dunno, throw the message down, then she might not get worried . . ."

"Actually," announced the mayor. "I think I have some spare paper." he reached into his pocket, pulling out a creased piece of paper and a pen. "A mayor carries these at all times for such occasions as this."

"Great, but how do we get it to her?"

"Ah, you'll see. Sarita, write the message and we'll take care of the rest."

"'We'll'?" I asked as the mayor handed the paper to Sarita.

"Don't worry." he said with a grin. "We'll get it to her."

"Via . . .?"

"Paper plane."

"Paper . . . oh no. Not one of those things! The Guide had an obsession with them for a while and I never want to see one of them again."

"Well, too bad."

"But anyway, how are we going to get a paper plane all the way down to the village?"

"Ah . . . well, I trust your arm, but we might have to make a few spare."

**X X X**

"This is ridiculous." I announced, watching the tenth paper plane fly in the complete opposite direction I wanted it to. "The wind is against us, and we'll be out of paper soon."

"We climbed all the way back here, I'm not going down there without mum knowing where I am!" Sarita said determinedly.

"Hmm," said the mayor after a pause. "You're right, Zelda68. Maybe this isn't going to work. We'll only do three more, then we'll be out of paper and . . . well, if none of them reach the village then Sarita might have to head back down."

Sarita gave a small whimper, looking down.

It was quite scary . . . but even more for me with her wearing the lucky horseshoe.

Sarita once again bent down on the rock and scribbled a message to her mother. I looked over her shoulder, curious of her choice of words. She had written in her best writing;

Mum – Sarita here. I know I said I'd be back by lunch, but is it alright if I spend the night here? I'd like to have a proper look around. I'll be back by bedtime tomorrow (just walking up the hill takes six hours!).

See you tomorrow, Sarita

"Nice handwriting," I commented, making her smile.

"No, it's not. It's terrible."

"It's not! You should see mine. Although, I suppose, I didn't go to school."

"You didn't?" Sarita asked, handing the letter over to the mayor. "Then how do you know so much about mining and everything?"

"Personal experience." I said with a smirk.

"Sounds a lot more fun than a classroom . . ."

"Ha!" cried the mayor triumphantly, holding the finished paper plane. "Gape at the talent at the world's best paper plane folder!"

Sarita laughed and applauded, but I'd seen enough paper planes for one day.

Or one lifetime.

Or . . . eternity.

"Be careful this time." I said. "Manipulate the wind."

"I've done that every time!" he said slightly grumpily, readying his aim.

He threw the paper plane, and it went soaring in the direction of the village. Sarita and I tensed. Would it make it this time?

. . . And it came soaring back in our direction.

"Why does that happen every time?" I asked with an exasperated sigh.

"I've never been the best at wind." the mayor admitted. "Sarita, maybe it would be easiest if you headed back down and just told her face-to-face. You'll have to jump, but you've got the horseshoe."

". . . I-I guess . . ." Sarita fixed me with a pleading expression, as if about to ask if I was sure the horseshoe would work . . .

But if . . . ha!

_ See, Guide? My mind does work as fast as yours sometimes!_

"No need!" I announced, reaching into my pouch.

"What are you looking for?" asked the mayor as I extended my arm until my shoulder was almost into the tiny pouch, rummaging around.

"Long story. Involving a skybridge and a lost pouch and a few potions. Sarita, write another note."

As Sarita bent down again I brought out the three items I had been looking for. A spelunker potion, a night owl potion and a hunter potion. The mayor frowned.

"I don't see how increased vision is going to help you." said the mayor critically. "And you know, it's very dangerous to drink more than one potion within the space of one minute. Or an hour. Or a day. A day, I think."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm going to do!"

I reached into my pouch once again and pulled out a beaker and stirring rod. I poured a small amount of all three potions into the beaker and stirred them together, the different substances fizzing and bubbling together. The potion let off some steam, and I reached into my pouch and brought out a waterleaf petal so that it wouldn't explode, like it had before . . .

"Done!" I cried, holding out the potion. It was now a strange mix of purple, green and brown, with gold flakes floating around in it like glitter.

"What on earth is it?" asked Sarita. "I've studied potions, and I've never seen anything like that before!"

"My own invention – the hawkeye potion! But hang on, just for luck . . ." I poured no more than a drop of archery potion into the mix, and it fizzed once again but didn't steam. "All of the best vision and reflex potions in there, and it tastes really weird, but it'll do us for this!"

"For what?" asked the mayor. "That might improve yours or my aim, but it won't change the wind."

"Ah," I said, taking the note out of Sarita's hands. "You'll see."

I grabbed the pen and scribbled my own message to the Guide.

Guide, run this to Christina, yeah? Sorry for giving you a fright!

"A fright?" Sarita asked, looking concerned. "What are you going to do?"

"The next few seconds should answer that question." I replied, taking the potion away from the mayor's keen eyes.

Without hesitating, I gulped down the potion in one. For a second I felt dizzy and almost fell over, but I stopped myself and opened my eyes, gagging from the wretched taste.

It was almost worse than mushroom soup . . . almost, but what could be?

The world suddenly looked very different, and I blinked a few times to bring it into focus.

"Wasn't that dangerous?" asked Sarita.

"She's done it before." the mayor answered simply. "It's safe, but very, very stupid."

"Ugh . . ." I said, sticking my tongue out. "It's worse than I remember. Hang on, the world looks a bit different . . ."

Everything looked strange. Everything valuable seemed to light up, and a few patches of the ground near the village seemed to glow. Everything was very bright from the night owl potion, but as I blinked again it settled out. The hunter potion gave me an obscene amount of energy, and I wanted to run about to burn it.

But laughing was bound to burn some energy . . .

I took an arrow out of my quiver and secured the note to it with a knot, taking my bow off and readying it.

"What are you doing?" the Guide and Sarita asked in unison.

"Don't worry!" I said with a grin. "I won't hit anyone!"

I focused and found that the village got closer. The church was easy to spot – it was so valuable that it was difficult not to be drawn toward it. I focused on the mayor house, which was almost as bright, and found the window of the Guide's room, wide open.

He could be such an idiot sometimes . . . leaving his window open?

Big mistake.

I took out a harpey circling the sun and turned back to the Guide.

I aimed very carefully, and realised that the Guide was in his room, pouring over . . .

A dictionary?

Well, I could make fun of him for it later. I noticed that there was a plank of wood leaning up against his wall (why? The inner workings of the Guide are confusing, even to me.) for no apparent reason.

Perfect.

I released the arrow, and as I watched and Sarita and the mayor gasped . . . the arrow went soaring through the Guide's window, embedding itself in the plank of wood. I tried not to laugh as the Guide threw himself backward off his chair, hitting his head on the ground. I couldn't tell if he swore or cried out – hearing him from miles away wasn't going to work, even with all of the magic of the potions racing through me.

I watched as the Guide walked over to the arrow, bewildered. He pulled off the note and considered tearing it up, but sagged his shoulders and walked away.

Sorry, Guide!

But . . . dictionary.

And, looking closer . . .

1000-page dictionary.

Ha!

"What did you do?" asked Sarita.

"The Guide will get the note, and he'll give it to your mum. Job done."

"You didn't . . ." began the mayor with a sigh. "You didn't shoot it into his room, did you?"

"Uh . . . no." the mayor raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"You must have given him a hell of a fright!"

"I've already apologised!" I said, raising my hands. The mayor sighed.

"I suppose."

"We should head down the hill then." announced Sarita with a smile. "Is the Guide telling my mum?"

I looked back down at the village and saw the Guide knocking on Sarita's door.

"Yeah. But can we stay here for a bit until the potion wears off? This whole thing is a bit freaky."

"What about harpies?" asked Sarita, trusting enough to sit down. I grinned wolfishly.

"They detect and feed off power, and even though I'm quite powerful right now, I'm a bit _too_ powerful for their tastes."

We waited for a few minutes until the potion(s) wore off, and then set off down the hill for the second time that day. Two times in one day . . . a week or two ago I would've been happy doing it once in one lifetime.

It took a few hours, quicker than going up, but all I could think about was getting there before the sun went down. I knew the mayor, or me, wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor, but there were only two beds and I would like to make another. Not for my own comfort, but . . . well, I suppose it was.

It's not often (in fact, it's more rare than a zombie with a bowtie) for me to treat myself. To be honest, I don't want to . . . but . . . I might as well make another bed.

Might as well . . .

It was almost sunset by the time we got down, and Sarita and the mayor insisted I show them the house that the Guide and I had made.

"Here it is." I said as we reached the house.

"It's lovely!" said Sarita. "How did you manage to do something like this in a matter of weeks?"

"Not weeks, _days_." the mayor corrected her. "I, however, remain impressed even though I've already carved it on the walls. It is a feat."

"I thought you didn't like people being formal." I said with a smile.

"I don't. Pretend I never said that. But . . . inside?"

"Yeah, of course. We probably won't do much looking today, the sun'll be down soon. We should probably just stay inside and . . . talk. I'll go and make a third bed."

I opened the door and Sarita and the mayor found themselves amazed at how homely and warm the place felt, even with the fireplace and torches out. The house was fairly large for only one room, but the existing room was separated into different areas. In one corner was the kitchen, with a small fire with a pot over it and a few spices the Guide had deemed edible (of course, his definition of edible is different than mine and I've eaten rotten chunks of devourer).

In the opposite corner were the two beds, and in the other was my work-station. There was a furnace made out of clay and stone, a simple workbench, hooks on the walls to hold my weapons and everything I needed to make a decent sword.

Fish were still swimming in out makeshift tank (they never seem to starve . . . what do fish eat?) and everything was the same as if I had returned a day after leaving.

"It's certainly more impressive in real life . . ." complimented the mayor, going over to sit on one of the chairs around the table.

"Oh, sorry, two chairs." I said, realising my mistake. "I'll make another of them as well."

"You don't really have to." said Sarita. "I'll only be here for a night, and I can sit on the floor and everything."

"No," I said, waving her off. "It'll give me something to do, anyway. Mayor, will you be alright while I go and look for wood?"

"Of course. You go. But do you mind if I cook one of the fish? We haven't had any lunch."

"Feel free."

"I'll come with you." Sarita announced. "I can help! I've never built anything before, but I'd like to be able to."

"That's quite an ask, y'know. But sure, come with me."

Sarita looked for branches and I cut down a few trees for wood. It was so much easier, just cutting down trees . . . it had been so hard to find a branch just the right size and thickness and then nail them together with . . . well, that was the problem. I had to manipulate them together and do the rest with string.

But, or course, I had nails now.

That made things much easier.

"How long will it take?" asked Sarita absent-mindedly, eyeing a stick. "To build the bed, I mean?"

"Only a few hours. You can help out, if you want."

"I want to, but I've never even used a hammer before."

"Seriously? What do they teach you in that school?"

"Well, I'm a girl."

"So?"

"Well, it's not our place. The boys learn woodwork in the later years, but that's all."

"Not our . . . you know how stupid that is, don't you?" Sarita smiled. "Well, if and when I get your village out of this mess, I'm going to have a word with your . . . headmaster? Is that what they're called?"

"How can you not know that? But yes, and I agree with you. In some of the more prestigious schools there were all of these equality . . . I dunno, rules I guess. But as the population decreased, the schools closed down and now there's only one left. It never was praised that much before all of the others died, it only stayed open because it charged more than all of the posh schools. There are only forty kids in school, that used to be just one class, but now every five kids is in a different one."

"Wow. A lot of kids got sent on the path of enlightenment, huh?"

"Yeah." she said with a frown. "I had friends who . . . who went on the path for whatever reason, nothing serious. Now I have none . . ."

"Sorry, didn't mean to bring that up . . . I think we can head inside now, we've got enough wood, and I'll need to start the fire if the mayor hasn't."

We walked back to the house in silence, thinking our own thoughts. Of course, my thoughts revolved around Sarita. The poor girl had lost almost everything, everyone . . . but she was still strong. I'd never lost anyone I knew to the corruption . . .

Apart from myself . . .

When we got back, the mayor had readied the grill for a fish – but the fire was out.

"I forgot to bring matches." the mayor explained as we emptied our loads on the floor. "We're going to starve before the night is out . . ."

"Hey, who cares about matches?" I said with a grin. "They take the fun out of it!"

"Fun?" asked the mayor. "What fun is there to be had in starting a fire without matches?"

"Loads, actually. Well, the Guide always said it was boring but you wouldn't want to listen to him."

"What are we going to do?" asked Sarita. "How do we start a fire without matches?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. I picked up a pair of stones that the Guide and I had kept near the fire for just such occasions as this. "I am going to tell you a secret. The secret that kept people alive in the days before matches. The secret that has kept me alive, and will keep you alive."

"This is going to be good." said Sarita with a smirk. "Tell us pray, what is the secret to life?"

"Not secret, sorry, _rule_. One simple scientific rule."

"What is it? Tell us, almighty Zelda68 of Terraria!"

"Okay, okay. But listen, for your life may depend on this. The enti –"

"Just say it!"

"Okay . . . when you hit or scape two rocks together, sparks fly. AND, if you're very, very lucky, you can start a fire with those sparks."

"That's the secret? You want us to bang rocks together like . . . like we aren't capable of using matches?"

"Hey, I spent a lot of time in Terraria banging rocks together. It works. In fact, it works better here than in Terraria because you don't attract zombies. Or demon eyes."

"Demon eyes?"

"Yeah. Big flying eye things that launch themselves at you like bullets. Don't you get them here?"

". . . I don't think so."

"We don't." the mayor answered simply, cutting in. "You had them in Terraria because . . . sorry, I know this is a sensitive subject, but you had demon eyes because the Eye of Cthulhu -" I twitch involuntarily at the mention of the demon, but the mayor pretends not to notice. "- created the beasts in it's image."

"Sensitive subject . . ." I mutter under my breath.

Damn right it is . . . very sensitive . . . the most sensitive subject in existence . . .

I rubbed my forehead, trying to clear my head. My old scars seemed to throb, even thinking about that battle . . . that damned battle . . . maybe it was because they were inflicted by the magic of . . . of . . . the Eye.

Or maybe I was imagining it . . .

Who could tell?

I opened my eyes and realised that Sarita and the mayor were staring at me. "Sorry." I said, rubbing my eyes. "Yeah. It's nothing. Some good ol' rock-banging ought to clear my head."

"Do we have to help?" Sarita asked, coming towards me as I sat down on the smooth stone next to the old fire.

"Well, if you do, it will be three times faster."

"Not necessarily. It could take three times as long."

"But it won't, because if it does . . . well, we'll get very cold. And hungry."

"Can't forget hungry . . . hungry is very important . . ."

9


	20. King Slime

In under a minute, the first nail was in. Of course, it would've taken me five seconds, but Sarita had never done it before. The mayor was cooking the fish – he had said that he wanted to leave us young ladies to the building.

Which was the exact opposite to what the Guide would've said . . .

So I hadn't been sure to glare at him or grin, and what came out was a strange mix of the two which made the mayor laugh.

Sarita and I agreed it would be easier (and a lot faster) if I started nailing in the nail (what else do you do with a nail?) and she finished it off. In ten minutes, almost half of the structure was finished.

The rest of it was a blur . . . a blur of holding nails in for Sarita, getting more nails, holding them in . . . until the mayor announced that dinner was ready. Sarita seemed pleased with her work so far, so I didn't point out her weak-points like the Guide would have done.

Like the Guide had done to me . . . but would she improve if she didn't know what to improve in?

_. . . Yes. _I decided vaguely as I stood up and tried to get rid of my pins and needles. _Yeah. Stop confusing yourself! Just eat!_

"So," said the mayor as I surfaced out of my internal conflict. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Um . . ." I replied. "Well . . . I never was that good at telling the time. That was the Guide's job."

"But . . . then how did you tell the time in Terraria?"

"I didn't. Didn't need to. That's the Guide's job – he's a Guide, remember?"

". . . I suppose. But what did you do when he wasn't there?"

"I stuck to a few simple rules. Dawn is breakfast. If you have time, when the sun is at it's peak it's lunch. Dinner at sundown. Sleep, and if you can't, maybe have a nourishment potion at midnight."

"Yes, I did notice you stuck to those rules a lot. But really, can't you tell just be sticking your head out the window?"

"I suppose . . . but can't you?"

"Well, yes, but really you should be able to."

"Food!" whinged Sarita. "I haven't eaten since breakfast!"

"Yes, yes, food." said the mayor with a smile. "Where are the plates?"

"There aren't any." I replied simply.

"But . . . you used something to eat off. I saw it."

"Yes, sorry." I said, getting up. "The Guide refused to eat off the floor, so we used these." I lifted up our water bucket, underneath which were four flat, smooth stones that were roughly circular. They were clean of the mud that had covered them when I took them out of the ground, and the Guide had polished them to a gleam.

"Cool." complimented Sarita. "But really, aren't they dirty?"

"No, the Guide would never eat off something dirty."

"And you would?"

"Of course I would! Once I –"

"Yes, yes Zelda68!" said the mayor, holding up his arms in surrender. "I know all of those stories, and I don't think Sarita would like to hear any of them."

"Yes, alright. Let's just eat."

We did just that. Sarita ate a whole fish, the mayor one and a half, but me less than half. I wasn't in the mood for food, really. Everything was so grim . . . how did the others do it? Food didn't seem to do anything to me, apart from making me less hungry . . . but, over the years, I've got used to hungry . . .

But, to everyone else, eating was a way of taking your mind off things. They would put aside everything that was troubling them and simply enjoy the simplicity and elegance of food. Me, I simply saw food as the thing that kept me alive, along with water. Water and food were what kept me walking when I had to, nothing more.

That was what had kept me eating raw zombie in the jungle a forever ago. It was no different to eating normal food, it would keep me going when . . . well, when I needed to keep going, which was always back then. But now . . . what point was there in eating when I could lay down and die (again) and it would make no difference.

. . . No!

It wasn't peacetime anymore!

During peacetime I had let myself grow lazy and bored. _Boring_, in fact. I wasn't the barrel of laughs I had been before . . . but that was only because there was nothing to do. I had explored everywhere, done everything . . . mined everything . . . there was nothing left to do. That was why I had decided to build the bridge to the new world, because I wanted to find somewhere new.

Which was what I had done . . . though admittedly not by choice. But what had brought me here? Me _and_ the Guide?

Actually, why me and the Guide? Why had it brought him as well? He was my Guide, but I could manage on my own . . . couldn't I?

Ever since I was just the child wandering the hills brought in by the Guide, he had been there. Without him I had been . . . lost.

Maybe he was a better Guide than he credited himself to be. I had never been lost after I met him, he had shown me the way . . . he had shown me what I could be, he had been the one who suggested I take up swordplay . . . he had been . . . everything. He had been my rock, my brother, my father, my child, my friend . . . he had been my entire family, the only person in my life . . .

He had meant everything to me . . . and still did. Even now that I had an entire family of dryads and merchants and friends, he was the person who had always been there for me. Granted, most of the time he was throwing paper planes at me, making fun of me or me him, but he had always been there when I needed him. Always there to help, and always understanding.

But he wasn't here now . . .

But then again, when Terraria was in crisis, I had spent most of the time away from him . . . but . . . that was okay. That was me being the hero he had prepared me to be, and he had stayed my Guide. He had been ready for me to burst through the door half-alive, and would panic whenever that happened.

He worried about me . . .

And he was the only person that did.

I didn't care about myself, and everyone else thought I was . . . immune to any type of harm. He was the only one who had been there when I was dying, when I was still young . . .

But he hadn't been there when I had died . . .

Maybe . . . maybe that was why I couldn't think about my death without flinching or twitching or feeling one of my scars throb. Thinking of the Guide and of when my life had ended didn't hurt.

But thinking of the pain, and of the misery and . . . the . . . _fulfilment_, it ached and made me sweat and my throat go sore. Thinking of the rest I had been taunted with, the death that I had failed to reach . . .

But . . .

That makes me suicidal, doesn't it?

Wow . . .

I really am messed up.

Why am I messed up so badly? Everyone else takes everything in their stride and just accepts things the way they are. And, I suppose, I've lived through a lot to take in, but  
>still . . . they just accept it and I end up on this long philosophical journey in my head . . . my brain should just switch off every now and then, but it just refuses to.<p>

But, I suppose, that's what sleep is for, isn't it? For nice dreams and all that? But how are dreams supposed to comfort people who've been through a lot when they turn into nightmares?

Damn nightmares . . . I never want anyone to have them ever again. But it's not like they'll just leave me, or anyone else for that matter . . .

But if there's nothing to have nightmares about, then there are no nightmares . . .

So . . . isn't that what I'm fighting? Am I fighting the nightmares?

Am I fighting so that I'm the only one who has nightmares, and everyone else can rest without a devourer ripping their head off (not literally of course, but nightmares feel VERY real when you're having them even though when you wake up you spot a billion-and-one faults in them and that's as good as reality for me)?

. . . Have I ever had a good dream? It's always been corruption and darkness and nightmares in my head. And in the long two years that the corruption seemed gone for good, it was always flashbacks. Sometimes I would wake up screaming and the Guide would be by my side, holding my hand . . . but the first thing I would think wouldn't be "Oh, Guide . . ." it would be "How long has he been there?".

I suppose I've always been unappreciative of the Guide . . .

But then again, has he been unappreciative about me?

No!

Maybe I should show him more respect . . . he thinks the world of  
>me . . .<p>

But he is my Guide . . . and my friend, and everything he could ever  
>be . . .<p>

He thinks the world of me, and he is the world to me . . .

"Hey!" called Sarita, snapping me violently out of my thoughts. I turned around and glared, blushing.

"Don't shout at me all of a sudden like that!" I blurted out. She raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't. I've been talking to your back for a few minutes now. What have you been thinking about?"

"Nothing! Nothing, just . . . it's my business!"

"The Guide."

". . . Wha- how could you tell? I mean, I wasn't! But how . . ."

"Like the Guide said, you have a look. The Guide look. Like this." Sarita put on a mesmerised, distant, yet troubled expression.

"I do not look like that!" I cried.

"Yes, you do." replied Sarita and the mayor in unison, with identical smirks.

"No! I . . . but . . . no, I was . . . anyway, I should light the torches."

"Yes, you should." said Sarita. "In fact, that's what I was asking you to do while you were sealed in your own head, thinking about the Guide."

"I wasn't – ugh, torches."

I grabbed a stick from the pile brought in by Sarita and lit the torches lining the walls. The room was pleasantly warm with the orange glow of the torches flickering on all of the walls and floors.

"But really . . ." said Sarita, stretching. "What time is it?"

The mayor stuck his head out of the window like he had suggested I could've done earlier. "About . . . eight. Not that late."

"Really? Feels like later . . . but six hours walking kind of takes it out of me . . ."

"I wouldn't have guessed." I said with a grin. "You look more fit than me."

"No-one looks more fit than you, Zelda68. You seriously need to put on some weight."

"You think so? . . . Actually, I really don't know if I _can_."

"Oh, I suppose . . . but you should at least try. Your stomach works just fine."

"Yeah, I guess . . ."

"I mean really, eat more. You barely touched dinner and you skip almost every lunch."

"But that's what I'm used to doing! I don't know if my stomach could handle any more."

"It could," began the mayor, Sarita and I turning to face him. "If you increase the amount you eat gradually. But you need to get out of your routine. You're even skinnier than Leaf, and he only eats once a day."

"Well, when you're living in the corruption food is hard to come by!" I shouted, suddenly angry. Sarita and the mayor stared at me, concerned. "Sorry." I said, putting my face in my hands. "I just . . . I might head out for a bit."

"Be careful!" said the mayor as I was heading for the door. I didn't answer.

I needed some space . . . I needed a chance to think.

Which was a crazy thing to say given the amount of thinking I'd been doing recently.

I headed out of the door and into the trees, losing myself in the forest and in thought. I could find my way back, but I couldn't let my brain stop whirring . . . but . . . my thoughts about the Guide were getting more and more complex, and my thoughts always seemed to lead back to him. My last train of thoughts had lead me to see the Guide in a different way, and I didn't want to act completely different around him when I got back . . .

To stop that from happening, I did my best to concentrate on the image that had, for a time, seen when I thought of the Guide – the image if him with many a paper plane ready to throw at me when I was on lookout on my observation tower. I had almost fell, I had thought that something was firing arrows at me . . .

That had been so pig-headed of him . . . so stupid . . . both of which were words he had used on many occasions to describe me.

Did he only act like that because of me?

No, no! Don't think about the Guide! Think about . . . what? Maybe . . . think about King Slime. That always cracks you up. I began to laugh even thinking about the beast. I sat down on a nearby rock and let the flashback overtake me . . .

_Oh, god . . ._

_Of all the things I had been ready to see, this was not one of them . . ._

_My initial reaction had been shock and fear, but now . . . I burst out laughing._

_A giant slime . . . the King Slime . . . of all the things that the world could've super-sized and thrown at me, like it had before . . . for god's sake, what a pathetic choice! A slime! Giant or not, a slime was a smile! And slimes were stupid. Did slimes even have brains?_

_This one certainly didn't . . ._

_I had been setting up a barrier of sunflowers on the other side of the corruption, and this thing had appeared out of nowhere and bounced towards me! But, thanks to the fact that slimes have no brains and no eyes, it had ran right into the half-finished structure of the large house I was building! The open end had been facing it, and now I could see the gigantic blue blob bulging through the windows, unsure what was happening but unable to turn back._

_Ha!_

_I fell to the ground, unable to stop my hysterical laughter._

_A glorified lump of oil! That was what was supposed to finish me off? Ha!_

_I only stopped laughing when something occurred to me. Slimes, when defeated, explode. According to the Guide, something to do with the oil in their systems combining with . . . I dunno. Something-or-other in the air. That was what he speculated, anyway._

_Why did everything need explaining to him? Couldn't it just be magic for once?_

_But it would explode . . . in my new house. And eventually (but inevitably for a slime this size) the gel would harden and crystalise, casing whatever was in it in an impenetrable shell. I had used this to my advantage many times before, but when a gel was in my house I would have to burn the leftover oil before it hardened . . ._

_And who could burn that much oil?_

_I propped myself up on one hand and realised that I needed to complete the sunflower barrier. Then I'd deal with the slime . . ._

_I set up the rest of the sunflowers in under a hour, but reached a dense, corrupted forest before I could go any further. It looked completely dead, and the corruption had no doubt reached it long ago._

_The poor dryad . . ._

_But I would have to deal with that tomorrow. It was starting to get dark._

_The King Slime, however, couldn't wait._

_I needed that house to sleep . . ._

_Did I have to sleep?_

_Yes. Corrupted forests are even more dangerous at night, when you can't see the  
>dryad coming . . . the corrupted dryad, I mean . . . I wish there was another name for them, when I thought of dryads I thought of the Dryad and I knew that would offend her that her name also made me think of the corruption . . . but what other name was there for them? That was what they were . . .<em>

_Anyway, there was a giant slime in my house . . . that was what I should be focusing on . . . but also what I was trying to avoid, which made things complicated . . ._

_I should just rush in and deal with it, and take care of the consequences later. Rush right in, stubborn and mule-headed just like the Guide said I was . . ._

_Yeah, that would fit me. Or at least what the Guide saw me as._

_No . . ._

_The Guide saw me as the hero I was._

_. . . Stop thinking about him! Think about the giant smile that is stuck in your half-finished house!_

_I really can't be bothered thinking up a proper plan . . ._

_Ah._

_Maybe that's why the Guide thinks I'm so . . . well, all the things he's said over the years. No, months. It felt longer . . . but it wasn't. Why does my mind always play tricks with me? Does everyone's? There's no way to tell, really. No-one ever talks about those things . . . why not?_

_I suppose no-one thinks about it as much as I do . . ._

_But again, how can I tell?_

_I wish I was as good at telling what people are thinking as the Guide . . . he can read faces as well as he can books. And he'd managed to give names to all of the looks I ever used . . . it was a bit creepy really, but it was no creepier than some of the things I had seen._

_A lot of the things I've seen . . . most of them in fact, the Guide is probably the least creepy thing I've ever encountered._

I awoke from the flashback on the ground, with my hands behind my head. The rest of it wasn't any fun . . . nothing ever was when you passed the funny bits. And all of the fun and laughter perished with the Eye . . .

Everything perished with the Eye . . . that damn demon . . .

To escape from the images of the Eye flashing through my mind, I turned to the thing that I was finding easiest to end up thinking about and was trying to avoid . . . the Guide.

_God, I hated him . . ._ I grinned as I remembered all the pranks had pulled on me, all of the things that I had felt sure would make me hate him forever. And all of the pranks I had returned, made more painful.

Everything was so innocent back then, even when we were throwing chairs at each-other (always for a good reason) . . .

But now . . . actually . . . why hadn't I let that happen again during peacetime? I could've . . . had fun. Why didn't that happen?

. . . What am I talking about? It didn't happen because . . . because of everything that had happened! Because of THAT STUPID DEMON! IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR IT, TERRARIA WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN IN DANGER IN THE FIRST PLACE!

But then . . .

If Terraria hadn't been in danger . . . I wouldn't have been needed. I wouldn't even exist.

I owed that beast my life . . .

. . . But no.

I had paid it back in full.

6


	21. Nightmares and Boredom

_Everything was wrong . . . everything had gone wrong . . . what point was there to my existence? I was a hero with nothing left to save . . ._

"_Yes . . ." came a small voice from somewhere in the darkness. "There is no point . . . why should anything matter? Everything turns to death in the end . . ."_

_I looked around. Nothing but darkness. As always . . . everything was always dark, there would always be more corruption to kill the light . . ._

_But . . . no. What am I thinking? Where am I? Why can't I . . ._

_I realise that I can't feel anything. There is so grass against my skin, no . . . nothing. I didn't exist anymore._

_But then . . . with me gone . . . what about the Guide? What about everybody?_

"_They don't care about you . . ." said the disembodied voice, coming closer. "They don't need you . . . they never needed you . . ."_

_But they do . . . they must! I need them and they need me . . ._

"_You need them. They don't need you. When has any one of them ever said that they cared about you?"_

_They . . . have. The Guide has._

"_When? When did he say that?"_

_On my birthday . . . less than a year ago, and every year before then . . . I pictured it in my mind. The beautiful card he had given me, with a pressed daybloom on the front. And inside, in his beautiful neat writing, he had said . . ._

Dear Zelda68,

Happy Birthday!

I hope everything gets better, things have been grim recently.

But remember what you told me;

"Beauty is not in the light or the fragile complexity of nature, but in the observer who stops to admire it."

I have no idea who you were quoting, but you said that to me a couple of years ago.

It still stands, and I'm saying it to you now.

Old wounds hurt the most, but why do you leave them untended?

You have to tell someone what is going on in that impenetrable head of yours, even I can't tell sometimes.

Please remember, I'm your Guide. I'm here to help you.

But enough dreary stuff, Happy Birthday!

I hope you enjoy being eighteen, and don't make fun of me for being seventeen! It's only a month until I am your equal again!

Love from the Guide.

_It had made me smile even when things were so impossible . . . the Guide was there to help._

_Love from the Guide . . . he had said it. He was there for me. He always would be, and I fully intend to be there for him as well._

_The presence that I felt backed away, as if stung. How did I know the voice? Who or what was it?_

_I froze._

_It was the . . . demon or whatever it was._

"_Well done . . ." came the voice, sounding as though it was in pain. "You are loved . . . it is true . . . you are better than me . . ."_

I woke up. Where was I? I could feel grass against my skin, I was real again . . .

What had happened?

Had the demon taken me in my sleep?

"Zelda68!" called a voice from in the trees. "Where are you? Zelda68!"

"Here . . ." I called weakly, sitting up. I felt like a tonne of bricks landed on me while I was asleep . . .

"Thank goodness!" said Sarita, appearing in the trees. "When we realised you hadn't come back in the night, we were really worried!"

"Yeah . . ." I said, rubbing my forehead. "Sorry. Must've fallen asleep. Where's the mayor?"

"He's looking for you as well."

"Seriously? I can take care of myself, y'know."

"Of course you can, no-one could ever doubt that, it's just . . . well, there's a demon that can survive outside of the corruption on the loose and you went missing."

"Yeah, but look at it another way – there's a demon that can survive outside of the corruption on the loose and you left the most important man in the village wandering about. Come on, let's find him."

"Alright, sorry . . . and sorry if I upset you last night."

"Oh, no!" I said, standing up. "I'm sorry I exploded like that. It's just been . . . I've been . . ."

"No, that's alright, let it out. But . . ."

"But?"

"But my argument still stands."

"Oh really? Which one?"

"Oh, ha ha ha. Isn't it obvious? You do need to start eating more." I stretched and gasped when my back made a strange cracking sound.

"No offence or anything, but I think that's my business. And the routine would be hard to keep up in the corruption."

"Okay, then maybe you should start after all of this finishes."

Despite myself I grinned. "After all of this? Who's to say that I'll still be standing when all of this is over?" Sarita didn't return my grin but frowned.

"Why is that funny?"

"Am I laughing? Can't I grin without getting frowned at?"

"Well, you were just joking about dying fighting for the village, and while you said it you were grinning maniacally."

"Maniacally?" I said, the grin not wavering. "This is my normal grin. Well, the Guide says this is the one I reserve for killing things . . . but that's his opinion."

"Maybe, but the point still stands. Why joke about death? That kind of freaks me out."

"Who said I was joking?" I asked, the grin shrinking slowly. "Don't forget . . . I was made to save Terraria, and even then I . . . well, you know what happened." Sensing she had struck a nerve, Sarita seemed unable to speak. "Sorry, yeah, let's just look for the mayor."

"He'll be fine." said Sarita as we began walking, grateful for the change in subject. "He can take care of himself."

"But can he? Sarita, I know he's a great man but don't forget, he's over sixty."

"But he's . . . he's still the mayor. He's still _my_ mayor."

"Yeah, I know, but it's my job to protect him."

"Is it now?" asked Sarita, putting on a grin similar to the one I had been wearing a few moments ago. "I mean, of course it is, but you're not his personal bodyguard or anything. He doesn't need one."

"He might now, the way things are going with this demon . . ."

"How are things going with the demon? I mean, you haven't seen it since or anything, have you?"

". . . No."

"Why did you hesitate? Do you think you saw it?"

"This seems ridiculous, but . . . well, I dreamed about it."

"You what?"

"I know it seems stupid, but I dreamt that it spoke to me, and . . . well, you don't need to know the details, but it talked to me. Made me doubt myself."

"But how can you be sure that it wasn't just a dream? A nightmare?"

"It wasn't."

"I believe you, but . . ."

"Look, it wasn't, alright? The . . . well, the Eye could do it too."

"Oh . . . I'm sorry. I didn't realise . . . I didn't mean to bring that up." I sighed and resisted the temptation to drop dead onto the ground.

If I just lay down and closed my eyes, everyone would think I really was dead and leave me alone.

But no . . . that wouldn't work.

"Mayor?" I called out, breaking the silence. "Where are you? Mayor!"

Sarita joined me as we wandered through the forest that took up most of the floating island, hoping to find the mayor. Where was he?

Seriously, where was he?

I was beginning to get worried . . . had the demon got to him?

Demon . . . was it a demon? Leaf had called it a corrupted human . . . how did I know what it was? I knew it somehow . . . but how? And, if I knew what it was, why was I wondering what it was?

It had said . . . what had it said? The message from the demon seemed so . . . unclear now. It was just like a dream – it had felt so real, almost more real than life when I was experiencing it but as soon as I woke up . . . it wasn't real. But it definitely had been . . . hadn't it?

Was I just going mad?

Sometimes that was the simpler answer . . . like magic instead of something the Guide would say.

I kept calling for the mayor, as Sarita did, but my mind was somewhere else. My mind was thinking about . . . my mind. Was I insane? I might well be . . . maybe I overthink things, maybe that was something I had inherited from the Guide . . .

Inherited? That made it sound like the Guide was my dad . . .

Creepy imagery . . .

Disturbing imagery . . .

_Stop thinking about it! _my mind called desperately. _Distract yourself with something, and not the Guide or anything morbid like the corruption!_

But what was there to think about? My mind refused to switch off, and everything was so confusing . . . think of something, think of something . . .

I looked around without stopping my calling out for the mayor, desperately searching for something to occupy my mind with . . . trees, pretty birds, rabbits darting through the trees . . . nothing but nature, and I spent much too much time thinking about nature . . . my head did a full revolution before it ended on Sarita.

She was something good to think about . . .

That made me sound like a stalker . . . a very creepy stalker . . . rephrase.

She could distract me while I had nothing to do . . .

Yeah, that worked.

Her startlingly red hair was frizzy and untamed, as she had hardly taken a hairbrush with her. She wasn't much shorter than me even though she was five years younger, although she was less muscely than me (as were most people).

Poor Sarita . . . I could feel it. Inside her there was a battle raging.

She was going through a lot . . . her mother was getting married again, she had a new sister and the corruption has finally stopped spreading.

But, as for Felix, he was a nice man. He was a brilliant swordsman and I felt sure that he was as gentlemanly and kind at home.

But I could just tell . . . she believed that her real father was still alive. I was unsure whether to believe it myself, given what a great swordsman he was. But the odds were stacked against him . . .

Then again, that had never stopped me . . .

But would it him?

"What's wrong?" Sarita asked, suddenly looking at me.

"Oh – nothing." I said hastily.

"Nothing, eh?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Our conversation was interrupted as we heard a distant voice from somewhere in the trees.

"Zelda68?" the mayor called. "Zelda68! Come on, I want to have my breakfast!"

"I'm here!" I called back. "Keep talking, I'll find you!"

"Yeah, thanks a lot . . . talking . . . I am talking, come and find me . . . look, a rabbit . . . a bird . . . what else is there to talk about?"

"Well, you are on a floating island." I called into the trees.

"Your point being?"

"According to the Guide, it's fascinating that there are rabbits here. So high above ground, y'know . . ."

"I suppose . . . that's an interesting point, I'll look that up tonight . . ."

Sarita and I reached the mayor, who was sitting on a rock.

"All's well, then?" he asked, standing up. "Our only hope hasn't gone and got herself killed?"

"Well, she has, but that was ages ago." I said without humour. The mayor winced.

"Sorry, I . . . didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't worry." I half-grumble, looking at the ground. "I'm going to have to get used to people talking about it, when it gets out . . ."

"To the village, you mean?" Sarita asked. "What makes you think that they'll find out?" I gave a humourless laugh.

"Either your mum, the Guide or one of the swordsmen will let it slip, and before I could get rid of the rumour then it'd have spread everywhere. That's just the way things work."

"Is it now?" she asked, eyebrow raising in what was quickly becoming her trademark fashion. "News to me."

"So, what now?" the mayor asked, heading towards us. "After we find our way back to the house, we have breakfast and look for the necklace?"

"I suppose." I said with a small shrug. "But I might just start looking for the necklace now, otherwise it'll take all day."

"Ah," Sarita said, grabbing my arm and dragging me with the mayor into the trees. "You know how I keep going on about you putting on weight?"

"Yes." I said with a sigh.

"Well, now might be a good time to start."

** X X X**

**An Interlude**

Everything was so boring . . .

I never thought I'd say it but I, the Guide, am bored. I'm supposed to be the boring one.

Even the dictionary has become boring . . . I'd already read through it, and there was hardly anything I could use in normal conversation in it . . . not without getting frowned at, anyway . . .

What was I going to do?

If Zelda68 was here, I would ask her. She was an expert on boredom. In fact, all of the time she wasn't sticking her sword into an Eater of Souls, she was dangerously bored. Very dangerously bored.

How did she survive?

I sat at my desk, head in my hands and elbows on the desk. My dictionary was in-front of me, opened on page 627. I had tried re-reading it, but I knew everything anyway . . . damn dictionaries . . . even the 1000-page ones ended . . .

But I would not let someone catch me shouting at a dictionary again.

What was I going to do?

Maybe I could head back up to the library and grab another book . . . but I'd done enough reading recently. But really, what else was there to do? I was a Guide with no-one to Guide . . . but, I suppose, wasn't that what Zelda68 had felt like all of the last two years? A hero with nothing to save?

I looked over at the plank of wood leaning up against the wall, which now had an arrow embedded in it. I couldn't be bothered to remove it, and it was something to look at. God, I had jumped when that flew in through the window . . .

A grin split my face as I remembered. I would never forgive her for scaring me like that . . . I almost had a heart attack! I was sitting here, page 263, and then an arrow flew in through the window! How had she aimed like that, from the island?

Well, knowing her, some stupid potion . . . her "Hawkeye Potion" probably.

I just hope she didn't see the dictionary . . . she'd never let me go . . .

I'd never forgive her for firing that arrow, and she'd never let me go for reading that dictionary . . . maybe we could just call it a draw.

I leant back on the back legs of my chair, and let out a groan.

What was I going to do?

At least when Zelda68 was bored, she could entertain herself . . . she used to walk to the beach at the end of the world every single day, and she could just go mining for fun (at least before she uncovered everything).

Maybe I could go for a walk . . .

I stood up and walked to the door, trying to get rid of the pins and needles in my legs. Everything was so boooooring . . .

I walked down the corridor and into the mayor's grand front room. All of the carvings lining the walls were so elegant and detailed, but I'd seen them all before . . . hardly anyone else was here . . . why hadn't I gone to the floating island as well? Sure I'd spent a long time there, but still, I was all alone down here . . . Leaf, Christina and Amethyst were the only people I knew other than the librarian, and . . . well, yeah.

Maybe I should try talking to people . . .

Nah.

I've never been much of a socialite.

I walked into the village square and sat down on a bench. Not many people were around, and all of them looked slightly uneasy. Why? Maybe they didn't want to be seen near me . . . but why?

Why why why why why . . . a question I had asked myself too often.

I should go on a walk . . . but where?

Where, why, where, why . . . I've got to stop asking myself questions!

I got to my feet and walked aimlessly around the village. Maybe I could go and visit Leaf . . . but he was an expert of self-entertainment if he had spent hundreds of years in the forest.

Nothing to do . . . nothing to do . . .

Nothing to do, nothing to do, nothing to do . . .

I ended up doing a full circle of the village, and sat down on the bench I had before. What was I going to do? Zelda68, Sarita and the mayor would be back tonight . . . maybe I could just go and sleep . . .

My mind was refusing to work properly . . . maybe I could go up onto the floating island and meet them there.

What? No!

. . . No . . .

Maybe I could go and visit Leaf.

. . . Everything was so utterly mind-bogglingly boring, there weren't even words in my new dictionary to describe it.

Maybe I could make one up . . . boring just doesn't cover it.

But what word would?

Something . . . big.

. . . Forget about it.

What does Zelda68 do when she gets bored? Think . . . well, back when Terraria was in danger she would go out into the corruption for a few weeks and kill as many monsters as possible. But I couldn't do that even though she had deemed me a hero.

. . . Could I?

No.

I returned to reality and realised that Robert (one of the swordsmen) was heading towards the mayor's house, sword hanging loosely by his side.

"Hey!" I called to him. "Where are you going? The mayor's not in."

"He's not?" asked Robert, coming towards me. "I was looking for our young hero, but is she still up on that island?"

"Yep. She sent me a message."

"How?"

"Via arrow. She won't be back until the evening."

"Really? We were supposed to be training in the corruption, but I guess she cancelled that."

"Oh, sorry. She'll be there for a while."

"But why exactly is she there? It seems a bit silly to take a holiday when the corruption has only just stopped spreading."

"She has her reasons, believe me."

"I suppose . . . I'll go and tell the others."

"I'll come with you."

"Why?"

"Nothing to do."

"Oh, right . . ."

"Um . . . sword." Robert smiled and put his sword in it's sheath around his waist. "Really, I should teach you sword safety or something."

"But what do you know about swords?" he asked as we started walking towards the church.

"I know that they're sharp and you stab monsters with them. What else do you need to know?"

"I don't know . . . how to use them, maybe?"

"That's overrated. But it is a big no-no to carry them around in the village."

"A big what?" Robert asked, laughing.

"Ah, that's something the Arms Dealer used to say to mock me. He thought I was a naive idiot."

"Really? I thought he'd look up to you. You helped Zelda68 save Terraria."

"And he helped her kill an Eater of Worlds, so we're about even . . . and he likes supremacy."

"Riiiiiiiiiiight . . ."

"Why are we going behind the church?" I asked, slightly uneasy.

"That's where me and the boys meet up after training."

"Doesn't the guy who runs the church complain?"

"There isn't a guy who runs the church. Technically, the mayor's in charge and I can't see him complaining."

"I suppose . . . everything is so boring . . ."

"Is it now? And what would break that?"

"I dunno . . . I suppose Zelda68 would keep everyone entertained."

"Yeah . . . your boredom seems to be affecting me too."

"Yes, we're both bored and boring – the only cure for which is a certain young hero."


	22. Demons of the Library

That damned necklace . . .

I spent all of this time looking for it, and went to all of this trouble to find it but it's not here. How could I have been stupid enough to convince myself that it was here? I should've let the Guide talk me out of it . . . I wonder if he's doing alright on his own . . .

Of course he is. In my brief absence he no doubt had a brief but steamy affair with a Miss 1000-page dictionary . . . but maybe her boyfriend, Mr. Boredom, came home and punched him until he stopped moving . . .

That had happened to me, just without the dictionary part. Personally, I think Mr. Boredom likes picking fights . . . he has issues . . .

And he will no doubt pick an easy fight if I don't get this over with quickly.

Sarita, the mayor and I were at the top of the slope, ready to jump down. It is almost sunset, and everything is going according to plan. I downed the rest of the Hawkeye Potion to keep the harpeys away, the only problem being Sarita's sudden and previously unmentioned fear of heights.

"Look, Sarita, it's fine." I assured her. "You just jump with the lucky horseshoe and me and the mayor will take featherfall potions. We need to get down quickly, before this potion wears off."

"M-maybe I should just go down the ladder." Sarita stammered, unwilling to look down. "It'd be a bit freaky to just . . . _jump_."

"I could push you if you like."

"Thanks for the offer, but no."

"It's not that scary, the Guide did that to me once."

"Seriously?"

"It wasn't that freaky. Plus, I did it to him as well so we're even now."

"I suppose . . . why don't you go first?"

"Because if I just leave you up here, you'll starve to death before you jump. Come on."

The mayor sighed from behind us. "I'm going to jump." he announced. "You two follow as soon as you can, alright?" The mayor downed the light-blue liquid and leapt off the ledge, slowly falling.

"Look, hold my hand, alright?" I pleaded. "We need to get back down. And if you do it now, I won't tell the Guide you wouldn't jump."

"Why shouldn't he know?"

"He'll never let you go, like I won't if you don't jump right now."

". . . Okay. But let's just do it quickly, get it over with." I grinned and gulped down my potion.

"Don't worry, it's a bit freaky to jump but it feels really cool floating." Sarita put on an uneasy smile and gripped my hand tightly. "One . . ." I could feel Sarita tense beside me. "Two . . ." Sarita closed her eyes. "Three!" I cried gleefully, throwing both of us off the ledge.

I knew what she was going through. She made a small noise at first, and then giggled. If my heart were still beating, for a second it would've tried to stop. And then, when we stopped falling and started floating down like feathers, I was, for a second, overcome with hysterical joy.

We giggled and laughed as we fell, me for once feeling grateful that I was falling with another female rather than the Guide, who would never, _ever_ giggle. Normally I wouldn't giggle either, but the strange sensation of floating seemed to be doing things to my head. When we were close to the bottom, I let go of Sarita's hand and fell ahead of her (featherfall potion doesn't work as well as a lucky horseshoe). The mayor was waiting for us, incredibly serious despite the fact he had been having great fun moments ago.

That's part of being a mayor, I suppose . . . never show your emotions.

"We'd better get back to town quickly." the mayor said as we began walking. "Otherwise even our 24-hour extension might not be enough."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Your mum's probably worried about you, Sarita."

"I suppose . . ." Sarita replied vaguely, unsteady on her feet.

We walked back to the village in silence. The necklace . . . what if it was still there? What if I had missed it? It was only when I cast a fleeting glance into the corruption that I realised that, maybe . . . that didn't matter. I could do a proper search for the necklace when the corruption was gone, but while it was still eating away at the village I'd better focus on the problem at hand.

When the corruption was gone, I would scour all of the lands to find the necklace, but now wasn't the time for personal quests. Or personal anything, really, not when I had a village full of people resting on my shoulders, not to mention the land surrounding it . . .

A land that was reminding me more and more of Terraria, back when I didn't know what it looked like. When I would dream about going out there, before the corruption started spreading, when everything was innocent and pure . . . before I was the hero that I had been before I died.

As we reached the village we headed our separate ways, Sarita towards her house and me and the mayor towards his house. We headed into the mayor's house, the mayor lagging behind slightly as I headed off the never-ending corridor and up a spiral staircase into the shorter corridor which the bedrooms that me and the Guide were loaning from the mayor were.

"Guide!" I called, heading down the upstairs corridor. "I'm back! No necklace, I'm afraid. Guide?"

No answer.

I peeked my head (and soon the rest of me) into the Guide's room, to find it empty. There was a large dictionary on his desk and, I couldn't help but notice with a smirk, the arrow which I had shot through his window was still embedded in the plank of wood leaning up against his wall, although the note that had been attached to it was gone. Why had he just left it there? Honestly . . .

I kept shouting for the Guide and headed back down the corridor, wondering where the Guide had gone. It didn't look like he had finished his dictionary, so why would he have left? I was just down the spiral staircase and was heading for the front door when I heard something. Something very familiar . . .

The clashing of metal on metal . . .

A swordfight?

I bolted in the direction of the noise, hastily drawing my sword from it's sheath. The noise lead me out of the house and toward the swordfighting ring out the back in which I had been forced to fight Vincent. What was happening? Was someone being possessed like Vincent, or was it just training? I could hear shouts . . . of terror or encouragement?

I couldn't be too careful . . .

I reached the ring and let out a sigh of relief to see one of the swordsmen casually duelling another bronze-clad man, the others cheering him on. Among them was the Guide, his nose, as ever, buried in a book.

"Hey!" I called with a grin, coming towards them. This was responded to with multiple waves and cheers, and the swordsmen duelling stopped to say hello.

"We decided to do a bit of duelling to fill the time." explained one of the men who had been sparring. "We were supposed to be training in the corruption, but it looks like that was cancelled."

"Ah," I said with my eyebrows raised. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you where I was going. But you're doing alright, aren't you?"

"The Guide wanted to teach us sword safety." said Robert with a wide grin, before the Guide could put down his book and stop him. "But then he realised he knew nothing about swords."

"Hey, I know a bit about them!" shouted the Guide, blushing. "At least I know enough not to almost stab myself!"

"I didn't almost stab myself!" called Robert in protest. "I was fine!"

"Dear god . . . Zelda68, you spend too much time with these people."

"Isn't that a good thing?" I asked with a grin, coming towards them. "They need to know how to fight the big bad monsters, Guide."

"I think they would've been better off doing that before they met you." said the Guide with a sigh, turning back to his book.

The swordsmen started sparring again, and in the end it was Felix duelling Kilgan. I couldn't help but be impressed by the skill obvious in the way that the two men duelled. They continued for a few minutes with all of us (apart from the Guide who rolled his eyes when not absorbed in his book) cheering them on. In the end, the duel finished with Felix holding his wooden sword against Kilgan's throat. We clapped him on the back and Kilgan gave a shy laugh, Felix allowing himself a small smirk at his victory.

Well . . . Christina certainly has good taste. Unfortunately, the best swordsmen are almost always the rebels. Take me for example. And Felix, and Sarita's father . . . poor Christina, really.

The swordsmen dispersed and me and the Guide headed to the front of the mayor's house.

"No necklace, then?" asked the Guide, clutching his book tightly in case I snatched it off him.

"Afraid not." I replied with a sigh, fiddling with my pouch. "But I suppose that can wait until the corruption is gone."

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod. "But . . . something else happened up there. What?"

"Says who? Nothing."

"No, something. I can tell, and given the way you reacted you might as well tell me now."

I let out a groan and tilted my head back, but when the Guide raised an eyebrow I sighed. I didn't want to tell him, but it looked like I might have to . . .

Then again, what's the point in keeping secrets around the Guide? Secrets eat away at you . . .

"Well . . . alright. I've started having the dreams again."

**X X X**

"1000-page dictionary." I said calmly, crossing my arms. The Guide stared at me, wide-eyed.

"No." the Guide whispered quietly. "Zelda68, please, you can't tell anyone."

"I can, and I will if you tell anyone about the dreams. I really don't see the point in worrying them! Sarita and you know, and that's more than enough people."

"Zelda68, there is a land at stake here! All of these people! If the demon is affecting your dreams then they need to know!"

"But why? It doesn't matter, I'll just do a couple of spells and it'll go away just like last time. I don't need people worrying for me, and this is my business and nothing to do with the corruption apart from the fact that the demon is doing it."

"This has everything to do with the corruption! If you are gonna fight the monsters out there you need to be in peak physical condition, not be falling asleep on your feet from lack of sleep like when the Eye of Cth–"

"1000-PAGE DICTIONARY!" I shouted, stopping the Guide form speaking the name of the creature which I hated more than anything in existence. "Look, it doesn't matter, alright? Just forget about it, there's no need to cause a fuss!"

I stormed out of the Guide's room and down the corridor into my own, unable to keep the scowl off my face. Why couldn't the Guide see it? I would stop the dreams, and then there would be nothing to worry about.

What was the point in causing a scene?

I walked into my room and sat down on the bed, putting my head in my hands. It was still hard to think about when the dreams had first started . . . they had been so vivid, so real. They had started the first day I walked into the corruption, and I had let them wash over me for months. They weren't nightmares, I was sure of that, they were so strange. Voices whispering, telling me things . . . it was only when I became paranoid and did some research that I stumbled upon an old piece of text – _The corruption gives you no nightmares, it is itself a nightmare_.

It was then that I realised that I realised that they weren't just dreams, they were something else. Something to do with the demon that kept the corruption spreading. I also realised what they had been doing to me . . . they had been making me doubt myself, doubt my abilities as hero. I hadn't even realised what was happening, but those dreams were weakening me, making me think that the Eye was more powerful than I could ever be.

When, in the end, we were evenly matched.

But this demon . . . what was it trying to do?

_You are loved. It is true. You are better than me . . ._

It wasn't making me doubt myself, it seemed to be bolstering my courage. Why would it be doing that? It made no sense . . . maybe it wanted me to die in the jaws of an Eater of Souls because I thought I could make the jump over an abyss. Maybe it wanted to make me think I could do things I couldn't . . .

Reverse psychology . . .

But then again, just how clever are demons? It had seemed genuinely upset when I had proved it wrong . . .

I let out an involuntary shiver and got off my bed, pacing around my room. I shouldn't have to be thinking about this . . . just a few spells channelled through a fallen star and then the dreams would stop. The mental barriers would go up again, and my head would be off limits.

If only that spell would work on the Guide as well . . . sometimes it really is ridiculous how much he understands me. He's my Guide, but really, whoever designed him went a little overboard in that respect.

Actually . . . where was I going to find a fallen star? It wasn't that rare for them to fall from the sky, but I hadn't seen any here . . . Then again, the mayor was bound to have some in his storeroom. He had meteorite, hellstone, lava and even a mini obsidian generator, so fallen stars were inevitable. More inevitable than the Guide had always insisted, anyway . . . Fallen stars were a common topic of argument between the Guide and me, as he always insisted that it was science (or maths, or physics or whatever) that kept stars in the sky. I mean, come on. If it wasn't magic, then why were they so useful in spells?

How could an equation keep stars in the sky? And if there was an equation, why did it fail every once in a while? Really, a sum keeping stars in the sky . . .

I remember the first time I saw a fallen star . . . I could remember it, clear as day . . .

_Three more zombies crashed through the door and stumbled towards me. I cursed and spun round, impaling one on my sword. I sliced through the other two with ease, but then the one I had been dealing with before launched itself at me off the floor and aimed for my neck, sending both of us crashing to the floor._

_ It's funny._

_ The Guide always says that you don't miss something until it's gone, and flesh falls under that category. I like my flesh, and I like it where it is – not in the bottom of a zombie's stomach._

_ The zombie was inches away from my shoulder, and it was only my frantic wriggling out from underneath the rotting corpse that left my flesh intact. I grabbed my sword off the floor where it had fallen and stabbed the zombie through the back and again through the neck. It's blood and that of the others oozed onto the floor, and I felt glad that I had not yet put the floorboards of my new house down. _

_ For one irrational second I longed to head back to the Guide and remain with him while the world turned to hell around us, it was so much easier than actually doing what the Guide had decided I was meant to do – be a hero. I had only been away from him for about a month, and already six zombie attacks._

_ Why did being a hero mean you couldn't go crying to your friends? It just wasn't fair, it's not like I had a choice in the matter . . ._

_ I turned to the doorway, expecting to see more zombies, to see nothing. I cautiously held my sword at the ready and grabbed a torch off the wall. It was pitch black outside, and it was nearly midnight. Zombie prime time. Why was it so quiet . . .?_

_ It's always nothing when there's something, and when there's nothing. My new belief._

_ I approached the door, holding my torch and sword at the ready. When I neared the doorway I slowed down, unsure what to expect. When I passed the threshold of the doorway, the torchlight revealed dozens of pale, dead faces surrounding the house._

_ "Ah."_

_ The many zombies began moaning and coming toward me at the promise of a tasty new hero._

_ ". . . Damn."_

_ I backed back into the house, putting the torch back on the wall and raised my sword. There was only one way out . . . to charge through the crowd and run for the hills._

_ The hills were safe . . . the hills had given me life, and they would not let me die without completing my task._

_ I could make my way through them. I would. This was the toughest life had been to me yet . . . but I would survive this._

_ I would have worse than this, I was sure of it._

_ I charged into the crowd, screaming a battle cry . . ._

_ . . . And the world faded into white as something bright came crashing down to Terraria._

_ I looked up from what was suddenly my position on the ground and saw dark patches of blood on the ground. A few zombies were not totally obliterated and lay motionless on the ground, but the rest were slowly floating to the ground as shreds of skin and bones._

_ What had happened? What possibly could've torn the zombies to shreds, and why not me?_

_ I realised that the ground I was lying on was in the shape of a crater, and something blue-white-yellow . . . more like rainbow but also shining white, was in the middle of it. What . . .?_

_ A . . . fallen star?_

Damn these flashbacks . . .

I surfaced from the past with my hand on the wall for support, and slid to the floor. They were getting more frequent . . .

But at least it was only in my nightmares that I saw the real demons of my past.

I stood up and headed down the hallway and into the village. I needed to know, whatever it took . . . Could humans corrupt? What Leaf had said . . . a corrupted human, eyes like embers, a little younger than me . . .

A victim of the path of enlightenment, who had survived long enough to corrupt and live with the monsters? For months? Years, even? It seemed unlikely, but was certainly not impossible. Children could do anything if they trained enough to get used to it, like I had proven.

More than anything, I had to know if it was possible for people to corrupt.

. . . But if they could, then surely I would be! I had spent weeks, _months_, in the corruption. If people could corrupt, then I would be corrupted.

. . . But then, am I? That would be ironic . . . Saviour of the Light, corrupted . . . Maybe it was only my instincts that kept me from killing everyone I met . . .

. . . Or maybe my teenage mind is running rampant again. Maybe I want that to be true . . . Maybe that would be cool according to the hormones running around and making me speak gibberish and think about the Guide all the time.

Realising that even thinking that meant I was thinking about him, I forced my mind away from the subject. I walked through the village square, still drawing some stares from faces both familiar and unfamiliar. You'd have thought that they would be used to me by now, but oooh no . . . they didn't like strangers.

. . . Where was I walking?

. . . Ah, yes. I was going to do everything I could to find out more about the corruption. I was going to do the unthinkable . . . Normally I would send the Guide to do something like this, as he would send me to kill devourers. But I was giving him a taste of my world, so it was about time I had a taste of his.

I stopped in-front of the building I was heading to and took a deep breath.

I'm going in.

I walked into the library confidently, but upon finding myself surrounded by shelves full of books I began feeling uneasy.

This was the Guide's idea of paradise . . . it was also a little sick. Really, he needs to get a life.

I took a look around, trying my best to avoid the books despite the fact that they were everywhere. There were a few people reading books, most of them absorbed. I took a step forward and they all looked up at the familiar rattling of my arsenal, as if to see what the noise was about.

It really was unsettling.

I froze and looked around, nervous. Most of them turned back and I headed over to a desk, at which an aged lady with slightly mad grey hair and long fingernails. The librarian, no doubt. She had been exposed to books for too long . . . sometimes they were far worse than the corruption.

"Um – excuse me?" I asked nervously.

"No weapons in the library." she said without looking up. I blinked. I had my sword, bow, arrows, daggers, pouch . . . I glanced at the weapons and my forehead creased.

Still, did I really have to take them off?

"Look, I was just wondering if –"

"No weapons in the library!" she repeated, raising her head. "No monsters in here, no need for them."

"Okay, forget it!" I said, raising my hands in surrender. "I'll just go, then." I walked to the door, once again drawing stares from those around me. I had my handle on the door when the librarian called "Wait."

I turned to her to see that the fury had left her eyes and she looked slightly calmer (or rather, less mad) and was standing up at her desk.

"You're a friend of the Guide's, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yeah." I answered effortlessly. "Why?"

"He's a good boy. You're a bad influence on him." I did my best not to burst out laughing at this obscene remark, and a grin pulled at my lips.

"Sure, whatever. But I can't really leave him alone, he is _my_ guide anyway." The librarian made a small noise in response and sat down, gesturing for me to come over to the desk.

"What did you come here for?" she asked picking up a pen, no doubt ready to rite my name in some kind of roster. I walked over to the desk, eyebrows raised at her sudden calmness. The Guide must be a good friend to her . . . but then again, how can a librarian not take a shine to someone who borrows twelve books a week and reads dictionaries for fun? I put both my hands on the desk and leaned on them casually, unsure how she would react to what I was going to say – what I had _come here_ to say.

". . . I was wondering if you had any books on the corruption."

For one beautiful millisecond, she was calm and ready to help me to the books I was looking for amongst the towering shelves. But then she realised what I had just asked and the madness sprang back into her and she stood up again, looking ready to slap me. I took a step back, as did everybody else in the library.

"Why would you want to know about a horrible thing like that?" she demanded as I turned towards the door. Upon her finishing the sentence I whirled around and glared at her.

She hadn't just insulted me or the way I had spent my entire life, she had also insulted all of the friends who had helped me, the Guide, and my _purpose_.

"Well I dunno, apart from the fact that the lives of everyone in this village is depending on it!" I called sarcastically back at the enraged librarian.

"GOD WILL SAVE US!" she screamed madly.

"Sure, whatever." I said with a roll of my eyes, leaving the madhouse of books.

Okay, forget that. That was the Guide's territory, not mine, and it was only fair that he had to do some work while once again going through that damn dictionary, leaving me to train with the swordsmen every day.

I paused as I passed a bench and took the opportunity to sit down as my recently-stabbed back was complaining. I was doing my best to take healing potions whenever possible, but that didn't seem to be working too well. Plus, I was trying to avoid potion sickness as I had taken so many potions in four years that the effects were just getting worse and worse.

I sat quietly, trying to right my aching back. I had never been stabbed in the back before the incident around a week ago . . . But, being a . . . well, a walking corpse I hadn't died. But that still begged the question – could I heal wounds over time, like when I was alive? The scars that I had received during the battle with the Eye had stayed fresh until I took enough potions to feed an army and stayed potion-sick for an entire month.

I really don't wanna do that again . . .

I stood up, wincing as I did so, and began walking back towards the mayor's house. Images flashed through my mind . . . terrible things that nobody should have to see or face, but I had. I wondered why I was seeing them and shrugged it off to my negative thinking and my back's complaints. To try and block out the negative images I stood up and headed back to the mayor's house, focusing on nothing but the welcome pain in my back.

Unfortunately, when I reached his house the pain spiked and I leaned up against the wall. I was out of sight and felt glad as I didn't wish to cause a fuss, but also slightly annoyed at the fact that if I were to die then nobody would notice.

When I tried to push myself back off the wall I fell back against it as the world rocked from side to side. Suddenly I was unaware of what was up and what was down, and as the world began to blur I felt myself slowly falling to the ground as everything began to darken.

I knew this sensation all to well . . .

So much has happened . . . I've lost too much blood . . .

The last few weeks caught up to me and I fainted.

When I awoke I began to come to terms with the fact that I had been asleep. Or unconscious, rather.

I felt glad that no-one had noticed me as I would've hated causing a scene. I also felt glad that I had fainted rather than once again been poisoned as I recounted what I had felt before collapsing.

Being an expert at fainting, as my mind began to clear I reached for my flask and drank all of my remaining water. I managed to stand up, my muscles complaining at being made to rest at such an odd angle. I walked into the mayor's grand front room, it's wall adorned with carvings that showed obvious skill. I allowed myself to admire his work for a few seconds in an attempt to help my mind back into the land of the living.

I walked into the corridor of carvings and walked up a spiral staircase that lead up to the bedrooms. I decided that it would be best to have a small nap, and then to ask the Guide to go to the library.

I needed those books, if they were there . . . I needed to know if humans could corrupt. If worst came to worst I could ask the mayor f he had any books on the subject, but that would only lead to more questions as he was as much of an expert as me on the corruption.

I veered off-course in the upstairs corridor and walked into one of the mayor's many storerooms. I helped myself to a bright red apple that made a satisfying crunch and let out a more than satisfying amount of juice when I bit into it. I also drank some nice, cool water that was resting on a shelf and, feeling somewhat awake, headed back down the corridor and into my room.

I shrugged off most of my weapons and lay down on my bed, suddenly unsure whether I should be napping but not doubting what had seemed like such a good idea when I had just regained consciousness. However, when I lay down on my back I had to sit up again and ease my body onto the bed, but upon lying down my stab-wound began to complain again. I grabbed a healing potion out of my pouch and gulped it down, and then after lying down properly my back was more thankful than full of complaints.

There was no point in getting up even if I was wide awake . . . the potion sickness would keep me off my feet for a while anyway.

I had been doing my best not to think about anything in-particular in a futile attempt to fall asleep for about ten minutes when I opened my eyes to see a frowning Guide at my doorway.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, confused.

"Napping." I answered simply.

"No, you're not." he replied. "You NEVER nap. What are you doing?"

"Napping!" I repeated a glare. I sat up and shoved the pillow in his face. "See? Napping!"

". . . Okay, but why?"

"No reason." I said, crossing my arms. For three seconds he was in deep thought, but when he emerged he said:

"You fainted."

"Wha? How did yo-I mean no! No, I was just napping! . . . But how did you . . .?"

"Do credit me with _some_ intelligence." he said with a roll of his eyes. "But why did you faint? What happened?"

"Nothing! It's just . . . too much has happened, that's all."

The Guide nodded, but his frown did not disappear. "But that's not all, though. Was it . . . your wound as well?" I groaned and dropped back down onto the bed.

"Zelda68, this is serious! I need to know, everybody in this village depends on it!"

"I don't think everybody in this village is going to die if my back aches from time to time."

"Maybe not, but for you to save this village you need to be fit for action, and you're hardly in your prime if you're going around fainting all the time!"

"I'm hardly going around fainting, I haven't since I was stabbed in the back!"

"Yes, but you were unconscious for three days then. You need to eat more, Zelda68. And sleep more."

"How very thoughtful of you." I grumbled. "It seems that everyone wants to fatten me up right now."

"I'm not trying to be annoying Zelda68, or even helpful! I'm just trying to be a decent guide!"

We stared at each-other in silence until the Guide crossed his arms and raised an unfriendly eyebrow, and I sighed.

"I'll try, okay?" I resolved. "But I'm not promising anything."

"Thank you!" said the Guide, a smile in his eyes. "You should have a nap."

"Nah, I can't sleep anyway." I said with a grin standing up.

I paused for a moment, wavering on my feet, and dropped down back onto the bed, raising a hand to my throbbing head.

"You okay?" asked the Guide, a worried expression on his face. He loomed over me and I raised a hand in defence at his frown. "You look hungover." he observed.

"Jut a little potion sickness." I said, waving him off. "My back was complaining after all."

"Potion sickness?" he asked, mesmerised. "I haven't seen you suffer from that for months!"

"Well, I think the last batch of healing potions wasn't quite right. Too much mushroom, maybe. I won't make that mistake again." The Guide rolled his eyes and sat down on a chair.

"You are mixing your own potions now." he said slowly, without looking at me.

"Hey, I have been for years and you've never complained before!" I snapped back. "Stop criticising everything I do!"

"Forget it!" he said, standing up again. "I just thought, given the option, that you might let a certain qualified mage mix your potions for you. He would be more than willing, y'know."

"I'm as good as a mage! I've been reading all the stuff out of those musty old spellbooks of yours for years!" The Guide gaped at me.

"Why did you never mention this before?" I groaned again.

"Guide, it's obvious. Do you really think I could use the Starfury or the Vilethorn or even the Water Bolt without being able to cast your basic spells?"

Silence ensued.

". . . But there's something else." he concluded, squinting at me. "You've got that look."

"What look?" I said with a frown, attempting to cover whatever expression I had been wearing by covering my face with the pillow. The Guide took a deep breath.

"The I've-Done-Something-That-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time-But-I-Now-Regret-And-It's-Going-To-Mean-Something-Bad-For-One-Of-My-Friends look." realisation dawned on the Guide's face. "And it's in the Guide phase. What have you done?"

"Nothing!" I said immediately.

"No, definitely something. Just get it off your chest before it becomes a big . . . _thing_." I groaned and let out a few noises of frustration from underneath the pillow. "Come on, just tell me. I won't shout at you if you tell me the truth." I sat up, throwing the pillow into the air, raised my arms in an annoyed gesture and collapsed back onto the matress, covering my face with my hands.

"I speak Zelda68, but I didn't understand that gesture." said the Guide in such a tone that I knew he had an eyebrow raised.

I took a deep breath but didn't say anything.

"No more secrets." he added firmly, and I sat up.

No more secrets . . . Secrets eat you away . . .

"No more secrets." I agreed with a sad smile. I scooted back on the bed and leaned against the wall. "I . . ." I began.

"You?" the Guide asked.

"Yes, actually. I . . . wanted to know whether humans can corrupt." The Guide nodded slowly.

"Yeah, so was I after Leaf said that . . . go on."

"So . . . desperate times call for desperate measures, right?" The Guide as silent. ". . . Sorry, in advance." The Guide was silent again, and I could tell he was panicking inside. "So, I . . . I went to the library."

"You what?" he cried.

"I'm sorry!" I cried back. The Guide stared at me as if I was an oddity.

". . . That's fine. Sorry, I just wasn't expecting it . . . Continue."

"And . . . the librarian told me to go out because I had my sword." The Guide nodded.

"Don't forget the bow and arrows and daggers and knives and everything else, but go on."

"And then she basically shouted at me, but then she asked if I was your friend and then she regained sanity, at least a bit." The Guide nodded slowly, but I could see a battle raging behind his irises. ". . . And then I told her I was looking for books on the corruption." The Guide turned pale, trying to imagine the librarian's reaction. "Please, Guide!" I pleaded. "You have to understand! The only reason I exist is to fight the corruption, and she was so careless about it! She insulted everything I am!"

"What did you do?" the Guide asked weakly, the last of the colour draining from his face. I took a deep breath, and the Guide attempted to do the same but his came out ragged. If it were possible, even more colour left his face. "Oh no . . . she . . . she's very religious. You didn't . . . insult the church, did you?" Some of the colour left my face as I realised what a predicament I had left the Guide in.

"Well . . . she said . . . "God will save us", in a crazy voice." the Guide leant on my chair for support. "And I . . . I said "Sure, whatever" and walked off."

The Guide swayed from side to side unconsciously, trying to come to terms with what I had accidentally done. "You . . ." he said slowly. I stood up, ignoring my body's complaints, and walked towards him. "You . . . what . . ."

"You're about to faint." I observed.

". . . Wha?"

The Guide fainted on his feet and I ran to catch him, grabbing him and hoisting his unconscious form onto my knee just before his head hit the sharp edge of the door.

That would've been a mean bruise . . .

Blushing at the intimate position we had ended up in, I picked the Guide up, ignoring the pain from my back and the headache from the potion sickness and allowed myself to smirk at just how helpless he looked. I walked through the corridor, into his room.

"You should eat more." I mocked him, marvelling at how heavy he was. "And sleep more. You're hardly in your prime if you're going around fainting all the time."

I rested him on his bed and glanced at the piles of books on his desk. There were a couple of interesting ones, like _Sword-fighting for Trainees_ and _A Guide to Guns_, but most of them were thesauruses and dictionaries – a part of the Guide's quest to widen his already extensive vocabulary.

I settled myself into a too-comfortable couch near the Guide's bed and waited. The Guide had set by my bedside so many times, it was only right to return the favour.

And, of course, to torture him upon waking up by making him think _How long have they been there?_


	23. Demons and Humans

**An Interlude**

_How long have they been there?_ Was the first thought that entered my head when I regained consciousness.

In an attempt to defend myself from the unknown threat, I tried to sit up but hit my head hard against the head of my bed. I swore loudly and opened my eyes, trying to avoid the bright spots blocking my vision as the world righted itself and I heard an oh-so-familiar mocking laugh.

I found myself face-to-face with a smirking Zelda68, holding a silver-plated fob-watch.

"Two hours, three minutes and thirty-eight seconds." she announced, closing the watch. "Not bad for a Guide deprived of a library, but I was up in no time."

I paused for a moment, unsure what she was talking about, but then the bitter reality of Zelda68's failed endeavour into uncharted territory found it's way back into my memory and I groaned, falling back onto my mattress. I felt the remaining colour drain from my face and she appeared concerned. She grabbed a shiny red apple and a glass of cool water from my bedside table and handed them to me.

"Goood boy." she said in a futile attempt to soothe me as I began drinking the water. "Caalm down. Dooon't freak out and beat me to death with a dictionary."

"I wasn't planning to until you mentioned it." I grumbled, hiding my face in the apple.

"I really am sorry Guide, but that librarian . . ."

"I know, she can be a little . . . highly stringed sometimes." I took a breath. "It's okay, really. She really did offend you, I would've acted the same way." Zelda68 smiled sadly.

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to make it up to you." she said, a gleam in her eyes.

"How?" I asked, suddenly wide awake. She paused, suddenly unsure whether to tell me or not.

"Actually . . . I might save that for your next birthday." she said, a smirk clear not on her mouth but in her eyes.

She couldn't be serious! Not after getting me all excited about it!

"What? No!" I managed. "Come on, what were you thinking?"

Zelda68 didn't respond, but smiled and stood up, making for the door of my bedroom.

"Tell me!"

"I want it to be a surprise." she answered coolly.

"My birthday is three weeks away!"

"And a lot is going to happen before then!" She left my room and started down the corridor.

"Come on, you gave me a bruise!" I called uselessly after her, rubbing my head.

"You would've got a bigger one if I hadn't been there!" she called back.

Eleven months . . . I lay back down, waiting for my head to clear. Did she always have to be so damn patient whenever I wanted her not to be? She was certainly happy to keep others waiting, but she couldn't sit still for five minutes herself . . .

Well, not without Eaters of Souls flying at her to keep her entertained.

**X X X**

I walked out of the mayor's house and made my way towards Leaf's. Surely, if I asked him again, he could tell me exactly what it was that he had seen . . . Maybe it hadn't been a corrupted human after all. Perhaps he had seen the demon that had stabbed me, but thought it was something else . . .

Perhaps the demon that stabbed me _was_ the corrupted human . . .

But although a large part of me wanted to find something that disproved Leaf's "corrupted human" theory, a smaller part of me wished that it were true so that the Guide had not sacrificed his library for no reason.

But then again, it was hardly his library to sacrifice.

I had seen little of Leaf around the village, but I supposed that was because if he had lived in the forest for hundreds of years with no company other than the rabbits then he was something of an expert of self-entertainment. A master, in fact. I can't sit still for five minutes without a few Eaters of Souls to keep me entertained, so I suppose I should look up to him.

I knocked on his door and frowned at the hinges, reminding myself to re-hinge it if I had the time. Leaf soon answered the door, completely awake although he had been completely silent moments before. Leaf smiled and opened the door all the way.

"How can I help?" he asked, and I found it strange that he wasn't going through the many hellos that he had once considered customary.

"Well . . . it's about the thing that corrupted your forest." I said seriously. Leaf's grin faltered, but there remained a small smile in his eyes. Grateful for a visitor, no doubt.

". . . I see. Come in." he said, stepping back into his house.

He sat down on a simple wooden chair that I had crafted the previous week, and invited me to sit on his bed. His house seemed to be going well, and it certainly gave off the feel of a forest. Vines had begun to cover the walls, and my days of toil had certainly paid off in the many plants surrounding us. Insects flitted in and out to their heart's content, seemingly untroubled by my and Leaf's presence. I noticed a book open on his desk with a quill and inkwell beside it, the writing in which was in a script I had never seen before.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, a small smile present on his face despite the seriousness in his eyes.

"Well," I began. "What exactly do you remember?"

"I already told you." he said, seemingly fine with me asking the same question twice. He began to unconsciously fiddle with his corrupted arm, playing with the small, dying leaves sprouting from it. I didn't point it out. "A corrupted human with eyes that glowed like embers walked through my woods and brought death." he said simply, as if reciting a book.

"How can you be sure it was a corrupted human?" I asked with a frown. He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I'm fairly sure it was a human, and fairly sure it was corrupted. Unless it was some kind if demon, the one that cut me and stabbed you." I twitched involuntarily at the Dryad's bluntness, but quickly regained my composure.

"So you think that it is either a demon or a corrupted human, and that it was the one that controls the shadows?"

"Yes. I couldn't make sense of it at the time, but the cloak of the creature seemed to move, as if it were made of shadows." I blinked.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Leaf frowned slightly.

"You didn't ask." he said simply. I tried to convey as much annoyance as possible in a sigh, but failed.

"Leaf, this was important. Next time you remember something like that tell me, okay?" Leaf blinked, red blush beginning to creep through his face.

"Okay, I'm sorry . . ." Leaf lowered his eyes like a child caught doing wrong, and I smiled.

"Sorry Leaf, I should've told you sooner. Is there anything else you've remembered?" Leaf raised his eyes.

"Yes, actually. You know how the demon sort of . . . _giggled_ when it had stabbed you?" I nodded grimly. "Well, given that it seemed a year or two younger than you by it's height, which would make it about sixteen and a couple of months. But Sarita came to visit me in the morning, and she told me that when someone turns sixteen they are no longer considered a child but a young adult, and they no longer go on the path of enlightenment-"

"So either it isn't a corrupted human at all or a kid managed to survive for more than a few months in the corruption . . . and most likely without a weapon." Leaf nodded.

"Doesn't sound very likely, does it?" agreed Leaf.

". . . I suppose not, but it's still possible." I said, leaning back with a hand behind my head. "I managed to kill a world-eating soul-destroying demon when I was sixteen, even though it cost me my life. We can survive when we have to, even through death." I paused, and frowned. "Maybe it's like me. Maybe the corruption kept it walking . . . but, unlike me, used it to it's own services instead of accidentally helping the girl who got rid of it."

"Unless it's a demon." said Leaf, bringing back the uncertainty of the conversation. "And don't forget, you're unique. You were created to be a force for nature, and this child would only have been a normal girl without any weapons whatsoever, no sword skills and likely no expertise in building a devourer-proof shelter. Not to mention food and water – very hard to come by in the corruption, and she'd hardly have a flask on her for walking up a hill."

"Perhaps she was well-prepared."

"She'd have to be extremely _over_-prepared in order to survive out there. Think of all the weapons you carry and how many of them you need to survive in that place, she'd hardly have time to prepare for being sent on the path of enlightenment, the children are practically herded out of the village."

I stood up and began pacing around the room.

Demon or corrupted human? Which was the evil one?

Demon or human demon or human demon or human . . .

_You aren't meant to know!_

I froze. What was that?

_"You aren't supposed to know yet! Where's the fun in that?"_

_ I opened my eyes and found myself in darkness, as I had in my dream. The evil one was calling for me . . . she had managed to pluck me right out of my body just to tell me that I shouldn't be thinking about what I was. Why couldn't I know the truth? I needed to know who I was up against!_

_ "No, you don't." called the playful, childish voice. "You're playing my game now. You don't know who I am until I tell you, and then you have to fight me. Whoever wins wins! It's fun for the winner, but the loser is sad." I heard a small giggle against the thick darkness. "And I always win!"_

_ What did that mean?_

_ "Play the game! Play the game!"_

_ . . . Okay. Okay, I suppose I am anyway._

_ "Good! Lots of fun! I always win!"_

_ . . . But if you always win, who else have you played with?_

_ Another giggle, but this time it sounded more bloodthirsty than playful. "I am playing the game right now. It's two against one, for double the fun!"_

_ Who else are you playing with? For god's sake, who else are you communicating with? Who is fighting with you? Who is on my side?_

_ All of a sudden, I felt the darkness recoil, exposing a figure before me. It wore a black cloak of shadows that twisted around it's unnaturally slender figure, and shadows covered most of it's face like a veil. A girl. Slightly younger than me with ember eyes wide with panic and sadness but, above all, madness. "No!" shouted the girl. "Don't swear in the name of the lord, that's what my mother used to say! But she was wrong! God isn't real! He's a nasty person, he is the enemy! I WILL KILL HIM IF HE EXISTS!"_

_ Shadows once again obscured my view, and I could hear strange sounds through my muffled ears. At first they seemed like screams, but then they were sobs, and then cries of rage. The shadows tightened and loosened according to the moods of the girl, and eventually she was reduced to loud gasps for air._

_ . . . Gasps? She was alive! There was something of her left in there, some of the girl who she once was . . . memories, faint and distorted, but there._

_ She was still alive. Was she even my enemy? She was mad, but maybe I could save her . . . Maybe I should be _helping_ her . . ._

_ "NO!" she screamed. "We are the two players! We are enemies!"_

_ But I don't want to have to fight you! You're not a demon, you're just a child!_

_ "NO! Hero fights corruption! The hero always fights the corruption, and the corruption always plays with the hero!"_

_ . . . Who else has come into the corruption? Who was the other hero?_

_ "No, you're breaking the rules! I tell you who I am if you win, but if I win . . ." I heard another giggle. "The village loses and the corruption wins with me! Fun fun fun! You're playing the game, and the stakes are high, the game will test you and tease you but even if you win then the corruption will devour all you love! You will die and I'll have fun!"_

_ That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let that happen. I will defend this village from the corruption and from _you _and whatever other demons are out there._

_ "He he hee! You changed your mind, you did! Demon or child? Demon or child? I'm the only one who knows, unless you win the game!"_

_ I hate losing, y'know._

_ "So do I, so does everyone, but I will win!"_

_ How can you be so sure?_

_ "Because you don't understand what I am! What I can do!" An empty laugh. "And you never will! Nobody beats me, nobody ever will! Am I lying, am I telling the truth? Am I making you think what I want to? You'll never know, never ever!"_

_ I will find out. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not losing again._

_ Giggles echoed through the darkness, coming from everywhere at once. They overlapped and mingled, creating a shrill chorus of bloodcurling laughter. "You don't know, you don't know! I keep my secrets but I listen to yours! That's how it works!"_

_ No. I am never losing again. Nobody else will feel the pain that I feel at every moment ever since I made my mistake. Nobody. I won't let that happen. Not to innocent people._

_ . . . Silence._

_ ". . . You are interesting. What was your mistake? Did you get hurt? Were you tortured? Now that I know that, I'll make sure everybody feels your pain!" The girl started laughing again, but I felt a grim smile split my face, followed by an empty laugh._

_ "What's so funny? I'm the only one allowed to laugh here!" She ranted on and I paid no attention to her, grateful beyond belief that only my friends knew the truth about me. She went on and on, but I stayed silent. But one thought lingered._

_ You really don't know what you're dealing with, do you?_


	24. Truth at Last

I woke up to find myself in the bed of a medical clinic, the Guide, Leaf and Sarita at my bedside. All three looked concerned and nudged each-other to look lively as I opened my eyes. My vision was perfectly clear and I didn't feel at all dizzy or disoriented – a first for me after having my soul plucked out of my body yet again. Perhaps I was adapting to it.

"You OK?" the Guide asked nervously. I grinned.

"O'course." I lied. "You just can't keep me down, can you?"

"Zelda68, this is serious! This is the second time in a day you've fainted!"

"For your information, I didn't faint. _You_ did." He blushed. "And I really am fine, whether you like it or not." The Guide frowned and tilted his head to the side slightly, trying to read my face.

"What do you mean you didn't faint twice?" I groaned, trying to hide my face from his ever prying gaze under the pillow of the bed. For a few seconds I wished that it was possible for me to suffocate.

I couldn't explain it. I could tell him. This land was mine to protect, and the demon mine to slay. I had to keep the game secret, and I knew that if I mentioned the demon then it would most likely pluck me out of my body, and this time for more than a warning.

"Doesn't matter." I concluded, my voice muffled by the pillow. When I took it off, I was met with the Guide's frown.

"Yes, it does! Tell me!" he commanded. "You've kept more than enough secrets. You know what they do to you, so don't start again!"

"Let her go, Guide." said Sarita calmly, holding onto his arm as if to restrain him. The Guide's head dropped slightly. "I don't know her that well, but I know that whenever she keeps a secret she has good reason for it."

The Guide clenched his fists, fingernails burrowing into his skin. Leaf cringed on his behalf, but me and Sarita's faces remained expressionless.

". . . Fine." he said with a resigned sigh. "But promise you'll tell me sooner or later, okay?"

"Of course." I said, eyebrows raised. "No point trying to keep a secret from your own Guide." The Guide gave a small smile.

"Yeah." he said, walking off. "I suppose." Once he had left the doorway, Leaf shot me a smile and followed suit. Sarita turned to me, sitting down on a chair.

"You OK?" she asked. I sighed.

"Yeah, fine. Thanks." I lay back on the bed, but Sarita stayed still. When I arched an eyebrow at her she sighed.

"You've got such a weight on your back." she said. "I'm worried about you, I can't help it. I would say that you're this village's only hope, I certainly don't underestimate you, but . . . you should share your burden, Zelda68. You can't do this alone, and the swordsmen are more than willing to help."

"I know, and I agreed to take me with them, but . . ."

"But . . .?" I sighed, turning away.

". . . This is who I am. This is what I do. Zelda68, Hero of Terraria. It's my duty, my _purpose_, to feel the wrath of the corruption and fight through it so that nobody else has to." Sarita frowned.

"But I was there when you changed your mind, at the breakfast after you'd been stabbed. You said that the Guide could be a hero too, and later Felix."

"I know, I remember! But the thing is . . ." I flailed my arms about, trying to express my annoyance, but Sarita only raised an eyebrow after ten seconds and I laughed. "The Guide is the Guide!"

". . . Well, that's rather obvious if you think about it. But how do you mean?"

"I mean . . . the Guide is the Guide. The Hero's Guide. My Guide. He's not a hero, and I don't want him to have to be because I know what it's like. And believe be, it's not a feeling that you want to wake up to. You don't want to wake up, almost smell the mushroom soup, and then feel your brand new wound aching and remember that you're in a crappy little shelter right in the middle of the corruption. And then to feel hungry, and thirsty, but realise that you ran out of water a few days ago and have to either walk for a solid week or fall down to the bottom of precisely the right abyss to get some, and you just know that there'll be a nest full of Eaters of Souls down there just to annoy you and emphasise the fact that nobody walks into the corruption and survives, not even you.

"Or so you think, but then somehow you fight the last demon and win and then you wake up. A hero with nothing left to save, and wounds that will never heal in a world of happy people who owe their lives to you and you have no purpose left other than to live and smile fake smiles and do what you can to repair the wounded land that you saved . . ." I gritted my teeth. "And I couldn't even do that. But even if I could, I know that I would be as messed-up and damn _depressed_ as I am now. No worse, no less. Death was just a hindrance to me."

Silence fell, and I did nothing to break it.

Silence is golden, as the Guide always says. I've never agreed before . . . but now . . .

". . . No." concluded Sarita suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glared at her, shocked.

"No? Whaddaya mean no? That's my life story! That's who I am! A hero who, for the past two years in her four-year existence, has had nothing left to save! Useless, depressed, dead!"

"No." she repeated, and I said nothing.

"So tell me, what did I get wrong? What do you know about me that I don't?"

Sarita's expression remained carefully neutral. "I know that it wasn't your having nothing left to save that . . . changed you. It was your death. Keeping a secret as big as that from everyone who meant anyone to you, even from your own Guide and best friend –" I didn't deny that fact but didn't agree with it either. "– Killed a part of you. You said that yourself. If anybody else did what you did, beat the corruption, they wouldn't feel useless, you would feel like you had done what you had set out to do. You had achieved all that you could achieve, and then you could go home to your family knowing that they could sleep at night. You would be a hero, not just an idiot trying to fight something that is supposed to be impossible to fight, and you would look back and laugh at yourself doing all those impossible things, and gloat about it to your friends. But you were so determined to keep the past behind you that you didn't think about all you had achieved, all you had saved. You just thought about everyone else, felt glad that they were safe but didn't give yourself a pat on the back for it. Instead you cursed yourself for not being faster every time a day passed without your heart beating. You were unfair on yourself and convinced yourself that you should've been better than is humanly possible.

"But Zelda68, nobody else will feel like that because nobody else will suffer the way you did. They will only feel happy that everything is over, and laugh with their friends about all the mistakes they made and all the near-impossible feats they accomplished. They'll come out of it all glorious, with you as their leader."

I said nothing. She was right, but I couldn't admit it. She didn't understand, although she had come the closest. I turned my head to her and saw her, deadly serious, staring intently at me. I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice.

". . . You don't understand." I said slowly. "Nobody understands, and I don't want them to."

"And they don't have to!" she cried, coming towards the bed. "You're an anomaly, don't forget. But let's pretend this conversation never happened and just let me say this." I frowned at her, trying to take her seriously even though her slightly frizzy red hair seemed to be standing on end, as if having anticipated the anxiety of the situation. Sarita smiled.

"You managed to save an entire land full of people from the corruption at the age of sixteen with half of the weapons that you have now, and now you have the help of a dozen eager highly-trained swordsmen and a small army of people who want to help you along. What could you do now? You've beaten the odds so many times, and then you paid for it. I'd say you have a while left before they catch up with you again."

For a second I stared at the younger girl, entranced.

She certainly was her father's daughter, even if I had never met him.

"You understand a lot about the human condition for a thirteen-year-old girl, you know that?" I managed to say with a smile. Sarita grinned a toothy grin, reminding me of myself.

"I like to think that my father's death was a necessary sacrifice," she began, and I felt my throat begin to ache and tears starting to form in my eyes. "But yours was so much greater that you almost make him seem insignificant. I know that you can put an end to the demons and the death here, and to be honest I'd prefer it to be sooner rather than later. This place needs your help, and I know you can offer it." Sarita held out a hand to me. "So will you?"

I grinned, ignoring the few tears that fell down my face at the movement. I held out my hand to her and shook it.

"I promise you, Sarita . . . Your father's death will not have been in vain."

**X X X**

I walked out of the clinic, and Sarita walked past me. I stopped and smiled at her back for a second. I had never been her age, and yet she had managed to change my mind about almost everything.

She had lost her father and many friends to the corruption, and it had never even occurred to me that she was tired of the only person who could help her taking all the time possible denying the help offered to her, openly or not.

She really was something . . . and after that chat with her I wanted to rush into the corruption with the swordsmen and set out to purify the land. But I knew it wasn't as simple as that . . . they needed more training. I sighed.

Why couldn't they have been born heroes like me? They were supposed to be the best in the village, but I beat them in my first duel ever.

Master swordsmen? Maybe not. But they hadn't been brought up to fight the corruption, so . . . they were actually doing quite well. Considering, anyway.

I headed back to the mayor's house, thinking of nothing but the demon and the swordsmen. The demon (if it was a demon – I was just tired of calling her "the thing") wasn't going to let me talk about her, I knew it. She would do anything to stop me from thinking about her, and losing consciousness three times in one day certainly couldn't be good for me.

I used to look at fainting as something good. A sign that you needed to eat more, sleep more. Your body's way of warning you. Also, fainting was as good as sleeping and I only ever fainted when I needed to sleep, so it was something of a relief to me. But now . . . a demon is using my loss of consciousness to have creepy chats with my soul, plucked right out of my body.

Not so good anymore. Obviously.

I was almost at the mayor's front door when something occurred to me – I remembered something that I had thought of walking back from the . . . _library_.

_More than anything, I had to know if it was possible for people to corrupt._

_ . . . But if they could, then surely I would be! I had spent weeks, months, in the corruption. If people could corrupt, then I would be corrupted._

_ . . . But then, am I? That would be ironic . . . Saviour of the Light, corrupted . . . Maybe it was only my instincts that kept me from killing everyone I met . . ._

I had dismissed my morbid thinking as hormones running amok, but perhaps . . . you never know . . . if humans can corrupt and the "demon" is a corrupted human, then surely I must be given all my time in that forsaken place.

But if they can't, and it isn't, then I'm not and the demon is a demon. But how can I be sure of that?

An endless spiral . . . If I truly wanted to know the answer, given my inability to converse with others (there's a demon watching my back 24/7!) on the subject, then I had to win the task set to me by fete and hope that the demon would keep it's wager.

I had to win the game.

I walked towards the spiral staircase leading up to the bedrooms, but froze. I took a proper look at my surroundings, the walls lined with beautiful carvings detailing the land's history. Battles were most prominent. The Battle for the Hill, held every hundred years or so when the atheists raised up against the believers. The religion would win, and then life would reset.

But the corruption had changed all of that.

They couldn't afford to fight among themselves, there were hardly any of them left. Killing each-other as the corruption closed in around them would be a stupid mistake, and it would most likely kill them . . . But what had the mayor said?

_"That's the battle for the hill. The one that we now use for the path of enlightenment. There was a battle there about a hundred years ago, between those faithful to god and those who didn't believe. There have been battles like that century after century, and I'll bet you anything that there'll be another one sometime soon."_

I couldn't let that happen . . . it was my job to protect these people, which I no doubt intended to do, but how could I protect them from _themselves_?

And, if I was corrupted, how could I protect them from _me_?

I put my head in my hands and rubbed my eyes.

Why is everything so damn difficult?

I'm supposed to protect people that are managing to kill themselves as the corruption closes in around them . . .

But I can't let Sarita down. I promised her. Sarita had lost almost everything to the corruption – her father, her friends and now I was putting her mother's boyfriend at risk.

My god, I feel terrible . . . But I promised her . . . And now I'm promising myself.

Every loss from now on will be towards a greater good, I swear. The path of enlightenment won't claim any more innocent children, and nor will the demon. Whatever foul creature killed the father of my friend will die on the tip of my sword.

I swear it.

. . . But not if I'm not worthy to make decisions like that? What if I am corrupted?

I am . . . dead, and it was the corruption that kept me walking. Maybe I am a creature of the darkness . . .

Saviour of the Light, corrupted . . . Barely even human . . .

But no. Nothing in the past can change who I am now. I may have been shaped by events beyond my control, but they don't change what I have ended up being when I find out about them, and I can break their influence easily once I know they're there.

Nothing can change who I am, not even death. I am me, just as I would be at any time. I am Zelda68 and the hero, and I am Zelda68 the hero. I am the sum of everything I have ever been, and nothing can change that. I am as real as I would be if the Guide were standing over my tombstone . . .

Breathing is overrated.

. . . There was a simple test to tell if I was corrupted or not. Very, very simple.

I walked up to my room in order to conduct it, my grim expression set in stone as I ascended the stairs. Flashes of moments that I had experienced appeared before my eyes, but I was not deterred by them.

_I reached into my pouch and pulled out a handful of purification powder, not throwing it at the creatures but on myself._

_I could feel it's power for good inside me . . . I could do anything . . ._

I kept walking. Was the demon making me remember these things? I could not be sure, but whatever the reason was I knew that I had to keep walking.

I needed to know what I was.

_I sprinkled the powder onto the wounded Vincent and he screamed and twisted as if burned by acid . . ._

_ And was still._

_ Until his mouth opened and a purple and black cloud seemed to evaporate from inside him, dissolving into the air._

. . . No, I wasn't Vincent.

_". . . But . . . what was that powder?" asked the terrified swordsman._

_ "Purification powder. Stops corruption, which was the only thing keeping him walking."_

That wouldn't happen to me . . . Vincent was different, the demon killed and re-animated him. Purification powder doesn't work on . . . people like me.

_"People like who?"_

I froze. It was the demon, alright. Trying to stop me from finding out what I really was.

And I had come _that_ close to telling it my secret!

_"You can tell me! What is it? What did you mean "breathing is overrated"? Did you mean that fighting me would be a most noble way to die? Well, I am flattered, but you would mean nothing to anyone dead! I have killed so many, you would be no different . . . And I don't suppose you wish wish to become part of my trophy room, would you? Ee he hee!"_

I kept walking. The demon kept talking, asking questions, playing with me. I promised myself that I would to my best to seal off my mind to it later on, like I had the Eye.

As I neared my room the demon's cries became erratic, screaming like a child deprived of attention . . . And I didn't plan to give it any. Eventually it was reduced to gasps for air, and I knew that it was too weak to keep watching me. She had spent too much time inside my head recently, and everybody needs a break every now and then.

I entered my room and sat down on the bed, taking off my weapons and placing them on my desk. I sat down on the bed and took my belt off. There were odds an ends attached to it – a couple of my daggers and a hunting knife with a curved blade, but it was the pouches that I was looking for. I took off my regular pouch (of you can call a magic pouch gifted to you by a dryad regular) and placed it on the desk, but before I put the rest of the belt down with it I plucked off the pouch of purification powder.

When I was younger, I could use the power for good in the powder to do some pretty impressive stuff, but now . . . I wasn't even sure if I was corrupted or not.

But I was about to find out.

Over the last couple of weeks, I had never handled purification powder without my gloves on, consciously or not afraid of what it might do to me if my worst fears were proven true.

I opened the pouch and poured some powder onto my left hand . . .

And immediately I felt an immense an immense pain, as if burned by acid. I could feel my skin beginning to peel off as the powder attempted to wile away at the corruption it had found, but even then I embraced the pain and clenched my fingers around the fine, white powder. But after a few seconds I could take no more and I released my fingers and swept my hand over the floor, the powder landing harmlessly on the carpet.

I looked down at my hand, unconsciously cradling it with the other. Burnt and bloodied, not unlike the rest of me.

I stared at my hand, unable to take my eyes off it.

I was corrupted.

. . . What was I?

I was just a damn monster! Not even human! Not even _me_!

I ran into the bathroom off my bedroom and quickly turned on the cold water in the sink. I ran my hand under the icy water, trying to numb the pain. My hand stung but didn't complain, and I looked up into the mirror . . .

I looked into the mirror and saw a face that wasn't mine.

An eighteen-year-old girl, eyes older than the rest of her. Wearied by things that no child should have experienced. There were thin scars all over her body, and peeking out from beneath her clothes were the tips of bandages, covering long-forgotten wounds. Her eyes were bright blue, but she knew that they weren't always like that – shifting from green to blue, depending on the light. She secretly hated them, cursed them for making her stand out next to her friends. The Guide had always said that her eyes were pretty, but now they looked dull in the dim light of the bathroom. A girl who had been conversing with a demon and had lost consciousness twice that day. A pale and skinny girl.

A girl who had died two years ago.

Not Zelda68, a hero.

Zelda68 was dead, and only when she realised that it was gone did she long for it to come back. Surely there was some way to bring back the child and do away with the hero, when there was no need for the Hero of Terraria anymore.

But the child in her was sleeping, waiting for the day to wake up. The right day.

The hero walked back into her bedroom and grabbed a healing potion out of a drawer in her desk, gulping it down. The pain subsided.

The child was waiting for the right moment to come out . . . something told her that. She raised her head and mentally set a date.

The Guide's birthday. The perfect day to be childish, and that gave her three weeks to make plans and leave instructions. She started right away.

Pulling out a few pieces of paper, the hero began to draw blueprints for a few things to leave to the builders. A lookout tower, the perfect vantage point in case of harpies, Eaters of Souls or goblin armies.

She worked on and on for hours that night, sketching plans, losing herself in her work when realisation dawned upon her.

Sarita had placed her faith in a corrupted girl . . .

. . . She couldn't let her down, corrupted or not.

_No . . . I am me. Sarita put her faith in the Zelda68 that she had known for . . . well, no more than a week, but it certainly felt longer. I haven't changed, just my perspective on myself has. I can still do this, I can still be whole. I don't have to be either Zelda68 or the hero, those are two elements of my personality . . . one cannot exist without the other._

"My name is Zelda68. I am dead and corrupted, but I am still human and still a hero. Breathing is overrated. I am not a monster, I am me."

I smiled.

". . . And I am such a drama queen."


	25. Goblins and Ghosts

**An Interlude**

I was really worried about her.

I could hear her scribbling away at her desk, no doubt either sketching monsters to show to the swordsmen or making blueprints for some new building project. She had said that, hadn't she? She wanted the swordsmen to ask around for builders so that she could start a project.

I winced, audibly and visibly, when it occurred to me what some of her last projects were. Some of them were amazing of course, like the massive obsidian generator and chandelier, but some of them were just ridiculous and unnecessary, like the beanstalk and skybridge or fallen star farm. But what would she want to build here? This land was in dire need of her help, so what could she build to help herself and the swordsmen along?

Perhaps a couple of lookout towers, in case of goblin invasions – after all, she was more than likely to smash a few shadow orbs in the process of ridding this place of the corruption. They made a good vantage point, and were also handy for shooting down one or two of the goblins before they attacked.

Damn goblins . . . I had helped her face an army of them once, at least one-hundred, and it had nearly killed the both of us, even with the help of the Demolitionist and Arms Dealer. But after that she had faced army after army, at least four of them, all by herself, and she had won.

But I knew, as did she, that although the goblins were weakened they were still out there. There was at least fifty left of them, hiding in caves and underground. She had encountered a scout or two, even in peacetime, and with the death of each one she had taken a piece of tattered cloth, a symbol of a goblin's rank, to prove her victory.

But she had actually wanted the goblins to stay alive, to keep gathering forces because she knew she had killed far too many of them, and also because they weren't too different from humans. Stupider and easier to kill, but most certainly humanoid.

I had my own interest in them as well – I wanted to know what language they spoke. All I had ever heard from them was the odd guttural grunt or squeal from them in battle, but if they were civilised enough to form an army, complete with mages, then surely they had to speak a language . . . They had to be able to communicate!

And what good was an army without a leader? Zelda68 was something of a leader in Terraria, (being hero and all) but she never acted like it and neither did anybody else. In fact, everybody made sure not to – she was smug enough when she wanted to be already! But I refuse to believe that an army 200 members strong could function without a leader, or without sufficient means of communication.

I paused in mid-thought and frowned. How had being worried about Zelda68 lead to my thinking about goblins and their means of communication? Sometimes my mind did strange things . . .

I sighed, listening to the scribble of pen on paper. Zelda68 had been going for a few hours, it really wasn't healthy . . . Had she even had any dinner? _After_ fainting twice in a day? She seriously needed to keep her health up if she was going to help this place out. She needed to be in her prime, like before all of that rubbish happened with the Eye. Seriously. This place was absolutely covered with the corruption with the exception of Leaf's forest and this village, and they would've been buried by it as well if she hadn't been there.

I clutched the sides of my head, trying to concentrate. It was so hard . . . Zelda68 was still scribbling away, and judging by the amount of noise she was making her pen was as good as ripping right through the paper. Stressed as always . . . I could practically picture her looming over a piece of paper, ignoring the pain from her recently-stabbed back, feverishly scribbling blueprints and diagrams until she lost consciousness. There was a time when the very idea of Zelda68 at a desk, let alone writing something, was absolutely ludicrous. I had to teach her how to write word by word, and although she didn't take to it as well as I might've hoped she had been forced to adapt when Terraria had been put in danger. She ended up as an expert in every kind of non-educational field imaginable, but had mastered the basics of reading, writing and drawing.

She was particularly good at writing (not that she'd ever let her read anything she had written, but I had on occasion seen her pouring over a diary that was well over 100 pages!) and loved drawing, but only did anything to do with them if it was strictly necessary. But then again, where did the diary fit into that? Maybe she was more articulate than I suspected . . .

I closed my eyes, trying to picture what she was drawing. I could judge from the sound of the long strokes that she made with her pen that she was drawing (obviously), but it was an uneven pattern as she, every now and then, would draw in the odd lone detail. I could tell that she was using something straight to draw completely straight lines, so whatever she was drawing was no doubt important . . .

Suddenly finding it hard to think, I raised my head and frowned. Why was it so quiet? I couldn't hear Zelda68's pen against rough paper or the tearing of pages that were deemed terrible, nor her grunting with dissatisfaction at her absent-minded scribbles.

Just as I was getting used to it . . .

What had happened?

I stood up and walked slowly towards the door. Was she okay? Had she fainted again?

Three times a day . . . A new record, to be sure, and something she would no doubt be proud of.

I crept along the hallway, trying not to make a sound as I knew that the mayor was asleep just down the corridor, and I also knew that he tends to get angry when you wake him up . . .

. . . And he can get scary when he's angry.

I found her door closed, which was a rare enough occurrence. Often she couldn't be bothered after a hard day's work . . . But today had hardly been a hard day's work, she had fainted twice . . .

I frowned. But what had she said?

_"You OK?" I asked nervously. Zelda68 grinned._

_ "O'course." she lied. "You just can't keep me down, can you?"_

_ "Zelda68, this is serious! This is the second time in a day you've fainted!"_

_ "For your information, I didn't faint. __You__ did." I blushed. "And I really am fine, whether you like it or not." I frowned and tilted my head to the side slightly, trying to read her face._

_ "What do you mean you didn't faint twice?" she groaned, trying to hide her face from mine by covering it with a pillow. For a second I forgot that it was impossible for her to suffocate and almost tore it from her._

What had she meant? It made no sense . . . The first time she had fainted it was no doubt because of her back (and the stab wound that rested on it), and the second she had been with Leaf, talking about the demon . . . or whatever it was. She had called it a demon, hadn't she? The demon that controlled the shadows, she had said . . .

That terrible thing . . . it had laughed after stabbing her. Practically _giggled_! If ever Zelda68 let me get my hands dirty, then it would be that demon which I would kill. On her behalf.

Nothing hurts her and gets away with it.

Snapping back to reality, I placed my hand on the doorknob and gently pushed it inward.

Zelda68 was at her desk, most definitely unconscious. My heart-rate escalated and I began to run at her desk, but then I realised something.

She seemed perfectly comfortable, not like she had suddenly fainted. The many papers on her desk were neatly tucked away in a pile, and her pen was out of her hand. And, unless my brain was playing tricks on me, there was a pillow between her head and the hard wood of the desk.

She was just asleep, thank god!

. . . But a _pillow_!

Zelda68 had never been one for pillows, not even when she had spent all day fighting off the demons of the corruption and all night fighting off the zombies outside of it. The hero that I knew would never have used a pillow . . .

I grinned.

But the Zelda68 that I had known years ago most certainly would have.

I took a blanket off the hero's bed, unable to stop smiling as I placed it over her sleeping form.

Zelda68 was coming back . . .

Thank god!

**X X X**

I woke up and found that the sun was shining. Why was the sun shining? The sun never shines when I get up . . .

I raised my head and let out a startled noise when a blanket fell off my shoulders.

What was it doing there? Where had it come from? What time was it? What had happened yesterday? Why was I at my desk?

I rubbed my eyes and stretched, letting out a huge yawn. My shoulders sagged as I felt my memories return and settle back into the correct positions.

Yesterday had been quite a day . . . No wonder I had fallen asleep.

And, to be honest, thank god I had . . . I had actually really needed it. Stretching again I looked down at the desk and at the many blueprints I had sketched, and my eyes fell on my burnt hand. For a second I felt terrible, diseased, _corrupted_, but then I frowned when I spotted something next to it . . . something white . . .

A _pillow_?

. . . Wow. Just . . . wow.

I hadn't even been conscious of putting it there! Had finding out the truth about myself changed me on a biological level?

I groaned and crashed my head back onto the pillow.

. . . I like pillows now . . . But that's only natural, really. So much has happened in the past week . . . No more than ten days ago I was underneath an apple tree with a rabbit sniffing at my feet while I watched the Arms Dealer trying to show the Guide how to shoot "properly".

Things have changed so drastically, and I have changed with them . . . Or rather, new parts of me have woken up from the deep sleep I had put them in years ago.

I raised my head and narrowed my eyes at the bright light coming through my window. What time was it? Usually I was up with (or preferably before) the sun . . . As my eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun I could see the barrier of sunflowers in the distance, and the last of the hills that wasn't corrupted in the distance was slowly decaying to the death and disease that threatened everything in this world.

I wished I could help that hill fight it's last battle . . . But I knew that to reach it would be to cross an entire corrupted wasteland, and it would take me at least a day to walk there . . . And by then the corruption would already have won.

I let out a sigh and looked back at the hill. Those surrounding it were already long since dead, and it was amazing that the one which was dying had held onto life long enough for me to watch it die. According to the mayor the corruption had appeared here years ago, even though it had not started spreading until around four years ago, at around the same time that the corruption had started spreading in Terraria. I had no idea why, but had a feeling it was something to do with the Eye . . . It was more than just any demon, I felt sure of it.

The death and disease that was to consume the last living hill . . . Somehow I felt sure that it all lead back to the Eye of Cthulhu. There was something about it . . . it wasn't just the demon that kept the corruption growing, it was more like a manifest of the corruption itself. I had been brought into the world to try and kill that demon and the corruption that surrounded it, and I had failed. I had faced so many unspeakable monsters before the Eye, but it had been that demon which had ended me. But I took the demon into the abyss with me, and the corruption had dissolved with the demon.

I had paid the ultimate price, and then the corruption had vanished. My purpose fulfilled . . . or so I thought. Maybe I had been made to walk around again because this land was still in need of my help . . .

But then again, if there is some great power out there, maybe some kind of God, and it had the power to bring people back from the dead . . .

Well, it'd probably have a more sophisticated way to do it than turn the hero in question into a zombie. In fact, that could be considered rather crude to an entity . . . Or so one would hope.

I looked back up at the sun, trying to judge it's place in the sky. I had always been rubbish at it, but the Guide wasn't there to help out. After spending a few minutes glancing from compass to sky trying to work out where exactly the middle of the sky was without going outside, I decided that it must have been about nine in the morning.

. . . Nine. Seriously?

I repeated the process five times, but time continued to pass until it was half past the unfathomably late hour in question. I pulled on some gloves and left my bedroom, dazed at having wasted so much of the day, and made my way to the mayor's room with some of my blueprints in hand. I knew that he had long since woken up, but also knew that he would no doubt be working on the infinity of papers that it seemed necessary for him to sign.

I knocked on the mayor's door and walked in without waiting for a reply, smiling as I saw him trying to hide the chisel that had been in his hand and disappear behind the mass of papers that were towering over his desk.

"I'm doing them!" he blurted out, and I laughed.

"I really don't care about them, y'know." I said with a smirk. "I just don't get what exactly all of these papers are _for_."

"Oh, it's you." The mayor sighed in relief. "Sorry, I thought you were my secretary."

"Yeah, I guessed that." I said, walking around the desk so that I could look at the man I was speaking to. "I almost feel sorry for her – it's her job to help you out with all this stuff and give you more work to do once you've finished, but you're too obsessed with carving things to care about any of the work that she gives you!"

"Hey, don't forget that it's because I can carve things that I'm mayor! It only seems fair that I should be allowed to carve things after becoming mayor. And besides, it's your story that I'm setting in stone so it's your fault technically."

"Indirectly maybe, but you're the one who's neglecting his duties as leader."

"I'm not neglecting my –"

"Forget it! Look, I came here to ask you about these." I said, shoving the blueprints in his face.

"Not _more_ papers . . ." he grumbled. "And where were you at breakfast, anyway?"

"I . . . fell asleep." I admitted, sitting down on a chair facing his.

The mayor frowned. "That's not like you."

"Don't rub it in, okay?" I glared, rubbing a sore shoulder with the opposite hand.

_That's what you get for sleeping at a desk! _I cursed myself.

"What are these anyway?" he asked with an eyebrow raised, putting my papers down on his already covered desk.

"Blueprints, obviously." I answered, crossing my arms. "This village needs to be able to defend itself, it needs some kind of shield."

"It already has that. You."

"Maybe, but I won't always be here! I'll be off in the corruption, most likely with the swordsmen and the Guide. Who's gonna protect you then?"

The mayor mumbled an agreement and sat back on his chair. "What's your idea?"

"We need to look for people willing to fight the corruption, people who can fight. Anybody who can use a sword or shoot an arrow, so that we have a way of fighting off any armies when I'm not here. The swordsmen are only the best, and there are plenty of people out there who have the skill to take their place when they're gone. A back-up so that we are never left unprepared."

". . . A back-up army . . ." the mayor said, considering my suggestion. "We might need one if we are to survive when you're away . . . But there aren't that many able-bodied volunteers out there. We'd need a proper tactical advantage if we'll ever be able to defend ourselves from, say, goblins."

"Exactly!" I smiled. "And that's these." I indicated towards the papers. The mayor frowned and began leafing through the sheets of paper.

"A lookout tower which archers can shoot from . . . A protective fence around the village . . . And what's this?"

"What?" I asked, and the mayor pointed at a drawing. "Oh. That's a . . ."

"A what?"

"A . . . thing."

"A thing?"

"Don't ask me what it's called, that's the Guide's territory. But look, I have one back in Terraria and I know that it works."

"What's all this?" he asked, pointing to the yellow scribbles that took up most of the drawing.

"Sand. When one of the zombies steps on the plate then the sand is released and –"

"I get the idea. Look, Zelda68 . . . These are all great ideas and they might just work, but they would take more time than we have to turn into a reality. "

"That's where you're wrong." I said with a grin. "I built almost every one of these in under a year months in Terraria, and that was just me alone. With the help of the builders and some volunteers, we could do this in a matter of months, maybe even weeks."

"This is a ridiculous amount of work." The mayor argued. "And where are you going to get all of the materials necessary to build all of this? I simply don't think it's possible."

"I've done it before, I can do it again."

"But you don't have the materials or the time to go looking for them! Over the centuries this place has been practically mined out, just like Terraria."

"Then where did they go?"

"Sorry?"

"If all the materials have gone, then where did they go? They can't just have disappeared."

"True, but I really have no idea where they went. Into building houses and weapons, I suppose. It was a simpler time."

"Well, then how did people mine back then? They must've known better than to just go leaping into a cavern like me, so what technique did they use?"

"Well . . . gold panning, digging out shafts, breaking the top layer so they could go down . . ."

"So there are bound to be things that they missed, right? They wouldn't have gone beyond the cavern layer, if they even reached it. And this land is absolutely huge with only one village, so they wouldn't have strayed that far from home."

"Maybe so, but you can't go as far as they would've, the corruption is blocking you."

"Then what about hell?" The mayor sighed.

"What _about_ hell?"

"They wouldn't have gone down to hell, and I could do with some hellstone. Plus, the small layer just above it is full of ore and gemstones."

"Yes, but you could spring a lake of magma down there with any turn!"

"Trust me, okay?" I said, sitting back on my chair. "I've done this before, remember? I know what I'm doing. I know what this village needs to survive, and, with your permission, I will put it into action."

For a moment the mayor continued to look annoyed, but then he seemed to catch on to what I was saying and he stared into my eyes, transfixed.

". . . You really believe that this is going to work?" he asked.

"I do. It will take a while, I'll have to spend a while longer than I intended here before heading into the corruption, but I can't leave this place with no way of defending itself. All of these _people_ with no way of defending themselves. That'd go against everything I stand for, everything I've done." I leaned back on my chair. "If I'm going to help this place, then I need materials. And if I'm going to get materials, then I need to go mining for them.

"And I'll have to smash a couple of shadow orbs, which means I am going to have to jump into an ebonstone abyss and just hope that it leads into a tunnel system, and I can't take the swordsmen with me to do that. I agreed that they could help me fight the corruption, but right now I am doing nothing to fight the corruption but to stop this village from falling prey to it's armies while we're gone. When this village is protected and has an army to defend invaders from it when the true ones are off fighting the darkness, then we will leave and finally fight the corruption."

". . . Wow." The mayor said with a nod. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that many words."

"You'd be surprised." The mayor nodded, and put his fingers in the steeple shape that he had when he had met – he does it when he's thinking, I suppose.

". . . Okay." The mayor concluded. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.

"Okay? Just like that?"

"Well, not just like that for me – you've no idea the amount of paperwork I'll have to fill in, but . . . Yeah, basically, just like that."

"So I can go mining soon?"

"Just like old times, eh?" asked the mayor with a smile. "Must be exciting for you. But first, you have to tell the public about this."

"What? Me?"

"Yes, you. You get funny looks about town, because nobody really understands who you are, why you are here, or where you have come from. You need to tell them, and you need to announce that you need volunteers if this village is to defend itself."

"Can't you do all that?"

"You just proved to me that you're good at making up speeches of the highest calibre on the spot."

"I don't even know what that means, and I'm rubbish at speaking to a bunch of people at once! Why can't I ask the Guide to do it?" The mayor sighed.

"Because the Guide is a very shy person, and you can't ask him to do everything to do with people."

"Hey, I don't! But I don't even know most of the people I'm going to be speaking to, and I don't know what'll encourage them to volunteer!"

"You'll figure something out." The mayor said calmly, turning to the mass of paperwork that his secretary had left him.

"But . . . But I –"

"Listen," the mayor began, a strict note in his voice. "I've tried everything to get these people to stop bickering among themselves and fight the corruption that surrounds them, but when they kept killing themselves then I turned to you."

"Me?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"I knew that I was seeing you because you were coming, and I also knew that you were a hero and that this land needed one. And so I waited. The corruption killed my people and they drove themselves into the wasteland, but I waited. We had no power, no way of fighting it as it took us one by one, and our religion killed our children, but I waited. We waited for years, and in what might've been their last hours the people refused to believe that the God that they so adamantly believed would save them had abandoned them. They waited for him, and I waited for you." The mayor smiled. "And then you came.

"You came, and then everything started turning around. You managed to get your hands on some purification powder during your second day here, and soon you had all of the swordsmen, save Vincent, at your back. The demons reacted too, and when I saw you being carried to the village by Leaf and the Guide, limp and bleeding from a deep wound in the back, I thought we were all done for. While you were unconscious, likely dying yet again, the sunflowers had almost no effect. The corruption almost passed them, but then you woke up. You woke up and the tide has kept turning since then. You built a ladder up to the floating island – a _ladder_, for goodness' sake! And then you came in here, and I knew from the look in your eyes that something was about to happen. And now you have to put it into action, all your mad schemes. You have to protect this place, like you did your home. And speaking out to them is a part of that." I looked down, trying to avoid truth in what he was saying.

"I tried everything." The mayor continued. "You name it and I did it, and in the end I just had to keep waiting. Waiting for you. But now I am willing to believe that you are more than capable of making them change their minds, making them stand up for themselves and fight instead of just sitting here and praying. You can do what I would've died to do, without even trying."

"But I can't!" I cried.

"But you can." The mayor said firmly. "You just convinced me that it's okay for you, the hero, to leave this village for what might be months, after we've waited years for your arrival and you've stayed here no longer than a fortnight. You convinced me that that's okay, even though my instincts were screaming at me. You calmed them, just by saying a few words. A few words which you thought up on the spot. You can change their minds if no-one else can, I know it."

"But I –"

"You're unique. You were born to save Terraria, and in dying you can save this place. You're an eighteen-year-old, and you're up against the demons of the world. You're Zelda68, Hero of Terraria. You're the Saviour of the Light. You will always fight the corruption, and you will always win. You will have to make sacrifices on the way, and I am truly sorry for the ones that you have had to make so far. Really, it's just not fair on you. But I can't argue with destiny." The mayor lowered his head and I raised my eyes. "You have to do this."

I sighed. He was right, obviously. ". . . You're not such a bad public speaker yourself, you know that?" The mayor grinned and laughed.

"You should go and talk to the Guide and the others, they'll want to know about this." The mayor said, starting on his paperwork. "A lot has happened through nothing but words."

"True." I said with a smile, walking towards the door. ". . . Maybe language isn't such a waste of time after all."

I heard the mayor chuckle, and instinctively reached out to the doorknob with my left hand so that I could shoot the old man a smile.

I cringed as the cold metal of the doorknob touched my burnt flesh, and winced as I reached for it with the other hand.

I couldn't tell him . . . I couldn't tell anyone . . . Not yet.

But . . . Wasn't that what I had thought when I found out that I was a zombie?

"Zelda68?" asked the mayor, concerned. "Are you alright? What's wrong with your hand? Zelda68!" I closed the door.

"It's nothing!" I called back uselessly.

". . . You can tell me anything, you know. I'm here to help you, as you're here to help me."

He was right, as always . . . but I just wasn't ready yet.

". . . I suppose you'll find out soon enough." I said, walking away from the inevitable confrontation.

Everything is always so complicated . . . is that part of being a hero?

. . . Or is that just part of being me?

**X X X**

I sat at the café table across from Sarita, a cold cup of hot chocolate before me. I was slouched, almost touching the table, and Sarita was more than upright, looking directly at the ceiling.

"I don't want to keep any more secrets from anybody, Sarita . . ." I mumbled, crossing my hands before me. "But this one is just too big."

"Bigger than the last one?" Sarita asked, lowering her eyes so that they met mine.

"Almost. Well, as big as it can be without being as big as the last one."

"Why can't you tell me?" she asked, sipping her hot chocolate. "I won't tell anybody, and someone has to know other than you or what happened last time will happen again."

If I told her, then would the demon pluck my soul out of my body again? It wanted me to keep it secret, I know . . .

". . . What did happen last time?" I asked, my chin banging on the table with every word.

"You kept it for too long. It changed you, forced you to grow up. You can't keep a secret that big again. This place is on your back, and keeping secrets while trying to save lives is as good as killing yourself all over again."

"Ssh!" I insisted as the waiter walked by, but thankfully didn't overhear our conversation. "How do you think the people here will react if they find out that the girl encouraging them to abandon their religion is a zombie?"

"You're not asking them to abandon their religion, you're asking them to stop killing themselves and start fighting the corruption which surrounds them. It's a fair ask."

"Mm . . ." I mumbled in response.

"Can I suggest something?"

"What?"

"How about we stop acting like depressed hormone-ridden teenagers and actually _talk_?" I laughed.

"Good idea." I sat up and Sarita sat down, and we picked up our hot chocolates and each took a long gulp, trying to reach the hot stuff at the bottom. "What do you wanna talk about?" I asked.

"I don't know." She admitted. "What do you normally talk about?"

". . . Devourers, mining, weapons . . . But you wouldn't find any of that interesting, would you?"

"I suppose not. What do normal people talk about, then?"

"Normal people? You mean like the people who aimlessly walk around town all the time?"

"I suppose, but they're hardly aimless. People who aren't heroes or mayors or guides." I made a face at my mug.

"You were a normal person a few days ago, until you met me. You must know what they talk about."

"Well . . . Books, stuff at home . . . Corruption . . ."

"Hang on – corruption? Normal people, talking about the corruption? I thought that everybody here was stupid enough to ignore it and just pray. No offence."

"None taken. Well, when you're surrounded by the corruption, you can't help but have some depressing thoughts. And some of my friends at school talk about them sometimes, it's only natural."

"I suppose . . . So even the people who think that God is going to leap in and save them if they go to church every day have doubts?"

"Everybody has doubts. Except my mother, naturally. We just keep them to ourselves most of the time."

"But what about the corruption do you talk about? You haven't been in the corruption, so you don't really know what's out there. What is there to talk about?"

"Don't forget, more than half of the children who were in the village last year have since been fed to an Eater of Souls for doing something wrong. Of course the remaining ones are nervous and want to talk to each-other, but that's only because we're scared that it'll be one of us next. None of the others are really serious about being atheist."

"But you are?"

"Of course! Who can have their father banished and almost all of their friends killed and not doubt that God is just taking his time saving us?"

"Fair point." I said with a sad smile. ". . . I just hope that nobody else falls to the corruption while I'm here."

"Don't worry, I know you won't let them." Sarita said with a grin. "Although you did take your time getting here. Another week and I may have converted." I laughed, but Sarita only raised an eyebrow. "And don't forget, if you hadn't been up there on the floating island then I would be dead right now. If you'd just spent another day up there then I would've been sent up the path just for speaking out when that harpey was about to rip our necks open."

". . . If I hadn't found that featherfall potion," I said, realisation dawning upon me. "If that featherfall potion hadn't been on the island, then you would be dead . . . If I hadn't climbed to the summit of that hill on time then the harpey would've killed everyone in the village and not bothered about me . . ."

"Apparently," said Sarita, only one eyebrow still raised. "Why, does it matter?"

"I think so . . ." I mumbled, covering my face with my hands so that I could concentrate.

I hadn't kept a featherfall potion in my pouch, but if the Guide hadn't found it then we would've walked back down the summit, oblivious to the threat to the villagers. And then everyone here would've died. Simple as that.

But if the demon had left me the potion . . . Why? Why would it let everyone here live when it had this one chance to kill them all with nothing but a harpey?

Maybe . . . maybe so I had something to fight it _for_. Motivation. I looked up and around at all of the people walking through the village square. All of them . . . I turned back to Sarita, who was frowning.

Was that all these people were to the demon? Motivation? I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth.

Maybe I would have to change it's perspective.

"Hey!" Sarita called, snapping me back into reality. "What are you thinking?"

I stared at her. Was she alive simply because the demon wanted me to fight it?

. . . Because it wanted me to _play_ with it?

"Zelda68?" asked Sarita, concerned. "Seriously, what is it?"

". . . Nothing," I managed, dispelling my dark realisation. "Sorry, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. What's the matter? Did you realise something, what?"

"No, I just . . . No, sorry, I have to . . . I need to go, sorry. Bye."

Without another word I left, unmindful of the bemused state I had left the poor girl in. That demon . . . it was just sick. It was just evil. I knew of course not to expect common courtesy from a demon, but this was just . . . All of the people around me, little more than an afterthought to that damn thing!

But it had made a grave mistake. The people in this place are still alive because of it, and they would strike back! They would fight, with me as their leader!

I had to tell the Guide about this, and the mayor. They needed to know what they were dealing with, and what the demon was willing to do simply to have a worthy opposition. But where was the Guide? I hadn't seen him all day . . . Perhaps he was at the library, trying to apologise to the librarian on my behalf. That sounded like him.

I walked away from the village square, trying to avoid the questioning gazes of all the townsfolk. They would have their answers soon enough, and then they would just have to get used to me.

I walked down a narrow, dark alley in taking a shortcut to the library. I noticed that there were doorways and windows built into what I had thought to be walls, and then realised that they were not walls at all, but tiny houses. Their owners had no doubt fallen to the corruption years ago, perhaps even before it started spreading. But why would people build such small houses, in such a dank and dreary alley? Were they running out of space, long ago? Before more than half of the once grand houses stood empty and unkempt?

I turned back to the village square, looking at the people busily walking around, each with their own purpose, their own destination. Even though when I had first walked into this village the sheer amount of people startled me, now I realised that the population was far too small for such a big village.

Too many empty houses . . . Too many forgotten stories, too many lives lead alone. How many people were there left? A hundred, hadn't Sarita said?

Was I asking them to sacrifice even more of themselves?

. . . No. If anybody died in the effort that I had started, it would be to put an end to the corruption, not to die needlessly in it's clutches.

Nobody else would be forgotten.

I turned back into the dark alleyway (or street?) and realised that there were unlit torches along the walls. Because there was nobody to light them or because there was no reason for them to be lit? I reached into my pouch and brought out a match, striking it against one of the bricks of the houses. I lit the torches one by one, careful not to let the match go out. I knew that they were something of a rarity as they were so fragile and hard to make, but I also knew that I could substitute them easily with a stick with gel on its end. I wasn't entirely sure why I was lighting them, but I thought that it was simply rude not to – as if leaving them off was a way of ignoring the people who had once lived here, to ignore their sacrifices.

I took a look into one of the small windows and was surprised at how comfortable-looking such a small place could seem. I could see an armchair and table, as well as a number of chairs and some dusted-over paintings on the wall. I could see the remains of a kitchen and a cooking pot and a set of stairs that lead into an upstairs room, all of which were too covered by a thick layer of dust. Empty for years, no doubt.

I tried the door and realised that the doorknob had been broken off long ago, and there were splinters of wood that had broken off from the rest, perhaps from the door being forced open. Had someone tried to steal from this place, with the owners dead? Surely nobody in this village would sink to such a low level . . .

I walked in, looking at the floorboards at my feet. There were places in the dust that covered the floor that were almost clear, as if someone else had walked in and disturbed the dust. But why would anybody come in here? A robber, come to steal from the long dead? It didn't seem fair . . .

Something about the place made me uneasy, as if there was a monster around the corner waiting to pounce . . . Like I often had felt after coming across one of the Demolitionist's explosive-created mineshafts before I realised what they were. Paranoid, I placed a hand on one of the daggers around my waist. Who had lived here? Why would anybody want something from someone who lived here?

I turned to the house's mantelpiece, over which was a painting. There was a piece of cloth draped over it, as if to hide the identity of the person in it. I removed the old piece of cloth and saw a picture of a young girl, no more than twelve. She was sitting on the armchair behind me, back when it's silk still had colour. She wore a blue dress of simple fabric, and had slightly wild dark brown hair. She also wore a strange pendant on her neck, a kind of T shape with gemstones built into it. There was something familiar about her, but I just couldn't place it.

Given that she lived in such a small house and that everything in it was so plain it was safe to assume that the family who lived in it were poor, but the cross on the girl's neck contradicted that. Maybe it was a family heirloom from times when they had been wealthier, maybe during the mining craze a few centuries ago that Sarita had mentioned.

I frowned at the girl. Why did she look so familiar? What was it about her? I squinted at the painting, trying to put my brain into gear. Where had I seen her before? If the family that had lived in this house had died ages ago, then the girl would certainly look different now.

That's when I realised – the girl looked extremely similar to Sarita. She had sharper features, thinner lips and her skin was paler, but otherwise she was the same. If it weren't for her hair being brown rather than fiery red, I honestly would've believed that it was her at a younger age.

But then who was it . . .?

After a moment I cursed myself for being so stupid. It was so obvious! This was a painting of a young _Christina_! This must've been where she'd grown up . . . perhaps she had only moved into the house that I knew when she married Sarita's father.

But then what had happened to her parents? This house hadn't just been moved out of, it had been abandoned. Had they died? Had they fallen to the corruption, like her husband?

I sighed and took another look around. It was hard to believe that such a quiet, dusty house was once home to a family. They had once filled this house with light and laughter and love, but now it sat quiet, abandoned and alone in an alleyway that had once been a street. Peaceful, but still full of ghosts and echoes of a life long since dead.

I looked down at the footprints of the intruder. For a moment I hoped they had been Christina's, come to say hello to this long since forgotten place, but no. They were larger, the size of a man's, and they were recent. They were almost clumsy, as if the person that had made them was not in full control of himself. Perhaps a drunk looking for a place to sleep?

Or perhaps something not so innocent . . .

I bent down and noticed that there was another set of prints in the dust – older, almost covered by dust. Made more than a year ago, easily. They lead towards the other end of the mantelpiece and then back to the door . . . Why?

I looked up at the mantelpiece and spotted something – it was uneven. In the centre there was a shabby clock that had long since stopped ticking, and on one side was the painting of Christina. But on the other side there was an empty space that looked as if it had once been filled by a picture the same size as the other.

Who would break into a place like this and take only a painting? They must've had a reason, there was no way that this was random . . .

I walked over to the other end of the mantelpiece. I stopped where the tracks stopped and stood where the intruder stood, wondering what they had been doing there. I felt sure, even more so looking at the uneven layers of dust before me, that someone had taken a painting that matched the one of Christina from the opposite end of the mantelpiece. I felt around in the dust, looking for something – a hair, anything.

What I found I most certainly did not expect.

An old piece of paper yellowed by age, coiled into a cylinder. Written on it, in neat, careful handwriting, was the name "Christina". A note to her, left by the robber . . . Or were they a robber at all if they left a note? I turned the piece of paper over in my hand, resisting the urge to open it. It was addressed to her, not me . . .

But still, who was it from? My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes, and perhaps that's for the better.

But just as I was to uncoil the note, I heard a noise from upstairs.

A footfall . . .

Whoever had broken in recently, they were still here . . . And they were not friendly, I felt sure of it.

I reached over my shoulder and grabbed the hilt of my sword.

. . . But what if I was just being paranoid? What if that footfall was just something falling over, disturbed by my presence in this long since empty house? But my instincts were screaming at me, shouting to me . . .

_There's something up there! Get out, now!_

But . . . how could I be sure that my instincts weren't just the demon trying to stop me from figuring out something significant? There was something up there . . . The hunter inside of me was sure if it.

What if it was just a drunk, too tipsy to walk home? I couldn't just go in there sword raised and scare him to death! But I resisted the urge to call out, see who was there . . .

If I did that then I lost the element of surprise.

So I compromised – I kept my hand on the hilt of my sword but did not draw it, and began ascending the stairs as quietly as I could.

Another footfall, not mine . . . And then several more. With each step came the jingling of weapons . . .

Not a friend, then.

I kept my hand on the hilt of my broadsword, terrified that the delicate singing sound of my sword being cleared of it's sheath would alert the intruder.

More footfalls . . . The intruder was pacing, almost in a circle, as if contemplating it's situation.

My hand tightened on the sword, and the door to the upstairs bedroom was only a few steps before me. I took another step up, but as soon as I pressed my weight on the wood it made a creak that I felt must have been deafening. I took my weight off the stair as soon as I heard the noise, but it was too late.

The pacing stopped.

I froze.

I felt sure that the both of us were standing completely still, waiting for the slightest hint that the other was making a move. We were opponents now.

But I would win . . . I had no need to breathe. I could be deadly quiet for as long as I wanted to be.

And I could hear the breaths of my opponent, practically rasps to my delicate ears. They continued, no matter how hard the intruder wanted he wasn't able to stop breathing. And when I closed my eyes and listened really hard, I fancied that I could almost hear his heart rattling against his ribs in a never-ending rhythm . . . I almost could, if I listened hard enough . . .

Despite my calm and confidence, my grip on the hilt of my sword tightened and I knew that my knuckles had turned white.

But then I heard something that would've made my heart stop and my blood run cold if it were possible, something that I hadn't heard in years and sincerely hoped I never would've had to again . . .

The intruder raised their nose and sniffed, smelling the air for blood – beating through my veins or otherwise.

My hand gripped on the sword so tightly that I could feel every one of the ridges, almost cutting through my skin.

That was impossible . . . They couldn't survive in the corruption and this was one of few and far between living spots in this place! There was no way they'd be able to get here from one of the others . . .

Unless . . . no . . . they couldn't . . .

Unless they were hiding in the abandoned buildings in the village . . .

I bolted up the last few stairs and kicked the door down, drawing my sword in the process. I heard an inhuman hiss from the corner of the room, as if whatever was inside was hurt by the dim light coming from behind the open door. I took a small swing and, as I had both hoped and despised the idea of, was blocked.

The weapon holding mine in place was a wickedly curved blade, not much longer than a hunting knife, that looked both exotically lethal and haphazardly forged. I had been right . . .

I let the intruder force me back slightly so that I could catch a glimpse of it's face in the dim light of the hallway, and then I saw it . . .

I watched as the intruder stepped into the light, and saw the light play on the wickedly sharp features and pointed nose and ears of the scout, illuminating the sickly green skin and tattered clothing, sewn together carelessly from the armour of fallen brothers.

I looked into the face of the Goblin Scout, and the Goblin Scout looked into mine.

If it had known that it had no more than ten seconds to live, then I suppose it might've been a little more careful to block my stab.

I tore off the piece of cloth tied around it's waist, a symbol of it's rank, and left the room.

I had some hunting to do.


	26. The Hunt

**An Interlude**

I sat in the library, trying to avoid the dark gaze of the librarian. I knew that she would never forgive Zelda68 for what she said, but I also knew that she knew that it wasn't me who had said those things. So why was she glaring at me? Couldn't she just forget that I was Zelda68's guide, not just any guide?

I absent-mindedly flicked through the pages of the book I had brought with me, one of the many that Zelda68 had found in the dungeon. It was one of at least ten that were written in a strange script I couldn't decode, unlike the books that had been hidden there by the authors in the hope that a hero might find them and think them useful.

Zelda68 had found them of course, but she had given them to me straight away.

I flicked back to the first page of the book and continued sketching down each of the symbols on a plain piece of paper. Some of them repeated, so there was clearly some kind of alphabet, some kind of cohesion between them. But what was this book even about? I couldn't be sure – the title was in the strange symbols as well.

I really had no way of telling what they all said – there was no way I could work it out other than guessing. And it was possible that there was a second code over the runes themselves when translated, perhaps a letter substitution code. Maybe A meant B and B meant C even after I worked out what the runes meant, but I had absolutely no way of telling.

. . . But still, it was something to take my mind off things. Things like the librarian that I just _knew_ was watching.

After a while the hours started blending together and I began randomly speculating about what the runes might mean, but it still lead me nowhere. A couple of times I came close to deciphering the code, but both times I ended up with gibberish in the end.

Perhaps it was all useless after all . . . What if the runes themselves weren't a code, but a whole different _language_, with no semblance to the one which I used? I sighed, putting my head down on the desk. It was all so complicated . . . But at least I had somewhere to start. Unfortunately, the book which I had managed to start translating from a slightly different set of runes (a different dialect perhaps) was back home in Terraria, and neither me nor Zelda68 had any idea how we got here or how to get back.

Zelda68 had a magic mirror, one which could take her home. I guess she hasn't found it yet . . . And if she had, there was only one and I knew that she would refuse to leave this place while it was still under threat . . . and as long as she was still here, I refused to leave her alone.

I heard a sharp noise and was snapped out of my thoughts as I saw that the stiff door had been violently forced open. My heart skipped a beat, my blood ran cold and my headache sprang up again when I saw who it was.

"The Guide in here?" Zelda68 asked, looking particularly pale. ". . . Yes? No? What?"

". . . I'm here." I squeaked, standing up and trembling.

"Guide!" she called, sounding relieved. "Come out here, now! Something really bad is happening!"

"What?" I asked. Picking up on the urgency in her voice, I walked towards her.

"Er . . . Something bad. We need to speak to the mayor, now. Come on!"

"Hang on!" I grumbled as Zelda68 left the library, closing the door behind her. I grabbed the doorknob seconds after her, wrenching it open. I knew that I was leaving practically everybody in the library staring after me, but, to be honest, I really didn't care.

Zelda68 was in trouble, and so everybody in the village was in trouble. I had a job to do.

"She expects too much from you." Came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to the librarian, frowning at her desk. I frowned back for a moment, but it soon turned into a grin.

"No, actually. She really doesn't."

I left the library, not daring to turn back, and saw Zelda68 waiting impatiently. She grabbed my wrist and dragged me along behind her as she began running through the village.

"Where are we going?" I squealed. "For goodness' sake, are you wearing Hermes boots?"

"What? No! We're going to see the mayor!"

"Why?"

We stopped at the mayor's door and Zelda68 turned to me, a wide grin splitting her face despite her otherwise serious demeanour. She reached onto her waist and drew from her belt a tattered piece of cloth that I immediately recognised to be a goblin scout's.

Without explaining, she bolted into the house with me behind her.

. . . Okay, now I really am confused.

**X X X**

"Goblins?" asked the mayor, distraught. "In the village?"

"Afraid so." I replied calmly. "Hiding out, I guess. Ran into a scout in an abandoned house, so I suppose they send them out to keep an eye on the people."

"Have any people gone missing?" the Guide asked urgently from his chair. "In the last few months? It's not like the goblins to go without feeding. They'll hide, but supplies and sometimes people will still go missing."

"I don't think anyone has . . ." the mayor said, looking through his piles of paperwork. "Apart from . . ."

"What?" I asked. "Who?"

"Well . . . every now and then I suppose someone does go missing." The mayor admitted, placing his head in his hands. "Often a child. But don't forget, that is to be expected when we are surrounded by corruption! There are mistakes made!"

"Understandable," I muttered. "When you're surrounded by corruption then the odd death might be overlooked, it's fair enough really. But . . . how many of them? For how long? How long have they been here?"

"Must be months . . ." the mayor said. "But how can we not have noticed them? Months here without our knowing, it's obscene!"

"Not nearly as much as you might think." The Guide said. "There's almost an army of goblins in Terraria at any given time, but they keep moving. They don't leave anything behind except the odd animal remains, and they make sure to cover their tracks. They run, and when they do that they're practically untraceable."

"But they must've been running pretty hard, to stay hidden in a village this size." I concluded, turning to the mayor. "What's the biggest building in this village?"

"Well, the church." The mayor answered easily. "But they couldn't be hiding in there."

"I wouldn't bet my life." I said, standing up. "We need to find them, and they're here somewhere. I'll gather the swordsmen and we'll start hunting when the sun goes down, that's when goblins are at their most vulnerable."

"I'll tell everybody to stay in their homes and lock the doors." The mayor offered, standing up. "In case we spook the goblins out of their hiding place."

"Good idea . . . they're bound to be suspicious enough already given that their scout hasn't come back. If worse comes to worse then I'll summon them out with a battle standard."

"A what?" asked the mayor.

"It's a small stand," began the Guide, eager to give the definition. "Made of wood, with tattered cloth from goblin scouts that Zelda68 defeated shaped almost like a sail. When they see just how many scouts she's killed, they'll be more than willing to start a battle."

"Exactly." I said, bored of the Guide's dictionary definitions. "But if I have to do that then we'd better barricade all of the doors and windows in the town, in case the goblins decide to take advantage of the situation and try and attack the villagers once they realise that we know they're there."

"Are you even sure that they're there, Zelda68?" asked the mayor. "Because if they aren't, this whole thing will cause mass panic among the villagers, even asking them to stay indoors will double the amount trying to run into the church, trust me."

"But there might be goblins in the church!" I cried. "For all we know, that might even be how they catch people – wait until someone's in there alone, praying, and then tie them up. Easy food."

"But who's to say that the scout you found hadn't been sent out looking for food? To go and gather supplies and then come back to wherever it is they're hiding?"

"There's no way of telling! We should just wait until the sun has gone down and tell the people to stay indoors so that they can stay safe when we go hunting. That's the best plan."

"But we don't even know how many of them are in hiding! What if there is an entire army waiting for you, and when you find them they attack the village?"

"I've taken on bigger numbers than an army, and there's no way that there could be such a large amount of them hidden in one village!"

"But what if –"

"Okay, you asked for it! What if all of the people hide in the church with the swordsmen to guard them so that if the goblins do attack then they'll be able to defend themselves, and meanwhile I go out looking for the goblins, maybe with the Guide, and then if we do stumble upon an army of them they don't bother running?"

"Whoa, hold on!" cried the Guide, walking towards me. "You're saying that we'd basically be bait to keep them away from the villagers?"

"Well, yeah. But don't you complain, I've been bait for you more than once!"

"B-But . . . Then . . . I-But then you . . . For God's sake, you might be able to defend yourself but I'm rubbish with anything other than a gun!"

"Then bring a gun!" I said with a smile, patting him on the shoulder with a grin.

"I don't know, Zelda68 . . ." the mayor said slowly, a frown on his face. "There is an awful lot of risk involved . . ."

"There's a lot of risk involved with digging a hole!" I said, waving a hand dismissively. "It'll take the goblins a lot of time just to break down the church's doors, and then they'll have the swordsmen to answer to, and that is if me and the Guide don't sort them out first!"

"The Guide and I . . ." came a small voice from behind me.

"Well . . ." began the mayor, contemplating the situation. He let out a resigned sigh and shrugged. "I suppose it's our best option."

"Finally, somebody agrees with me!" I said with a wide grin. "You should go and have a chat with the villagers, I'll tell the swordsmen what's up and then the Guide and I will work out where the most likely places for the goblins to be hiding are."

"Okay!" said the mayor, clapping his hands. "You should tell the swordsmen to spread the word – that all of the townsfolk should be in the village square at sunset, and for them to have their dinner before then."

"Does their dinner really matter?"

"Yes. You two, off and look for swordsmen."

I left the mayor's office, the Guide lagging slightly behind me.

"You . . ." the Guide began in a small voice. "Expect the both of us . . . You want us to fight off an army of goblins?"

"It shouldn't be an army, more like a . . . group, but basically, yeah. Why?"

"Because it's completely insane!" the Guide exploded.

"No it's not. It's really not." I started walking again. "Besides, you're the one who wanted to be a hero, remember?"

I walked down the corridor and down the stairs, but I turned and saw that the Guide was fixed in place.

"Don't worry!" I called up at him. "I have a few things under my belt that will make even a dictionary-hugger like you look cool!"

"What?" asked the Guide, rushing down the stairs at the promise of a new weapon. "What do you mean? You know I'm rubbish at anything other than a musket, right?"

"Of course I do! Hang on, though . . ." I reached into my pouch and rummaged about until I found what I was searching for. "Here!" I said, handing him my phoenix blaster.

The Guide stared at the hellstone-plated handgun as if it had just fallen from the sky. I couldn't help but laugh when he turned his wide-eyed gaze to me, and also couldn't help but feel as if I had just handed a child my most powerful handgun. I reached into my pouch again and, this time, pulled out the minishark and handed it to the Guide.

"I would give you my star cannon, but I'm all out of stars."

The Guide stared blankly at me. I raised my eyebrows.

". . . What? Say something, you're freaking me out!"

". . . I . . . Thanks!" the Guide said, finding his voice.

"Wait a moment, you need ammo." I realised. I reached into my pouch and drew out a bag, no bigger than my hand, and poured seemingly limitless ammunition out of it and into the Guide's pouch. During the entire process the Guide stared from me to the guns, trying to contemplate that I carried quite so many with me. Once I had finished with the bullets and musket balls and turned to the Guide his eyes were fixed on mine, as if in a trance. I couldn't help but smirk, and I crossed my arms.

". . . You're welcome." I said sarcastically, and the Guide blinked. After a few seconds I headed to the door, and the Guide followed.

"Just a second . . ." he said with a frown. "If you have this many guns and they're as powerful as I've heard, why do you ever need to use a sword?" I frowned and raised my eyebrows.

"You sound just like the Arms Dealer," I mumbled, then leaned towards the Guide with to make my point clear. "I. Hate. Guns. Where's the skill in pointing and firing? Bow and arrow works just fine for me if your enemy is a way away, and what need is there for a handgun if you have a sword? Basically . . . If you prefer a gun to a sword, either you're an idiot or are just plain rubbish."

I cleared the doorway and the Guide stared after me.

"Wait . . . Did you just call me an idiot?" asked the Guide, catching up to me.

"You'd be the exception. No, the exception that proves the rule."

**X X X**

After a few solid hours of searching the village, all of the swordsmen were fully aware of the situation and were going around town, spreading the news that everyone was to meet in the village square – after a good dinner, of course. Most had responded with shock at the realisation that there was a goblin army hidden in the village, but the more confident ones only gave grim nods and performed the task set to them.

But were they more confident, or was that because they didn't have families to worry about? A sword is always stronger with someone to fight for driving it . . .

But then again, what if the ones that had been shocked were not brave enough? A sword holds no power unless the one who wields it had courage . . .

I sighed. I doubted I could ever pick between the swordsmen . . . And hopefully I won't have to.

The Guide and I simply walked around the village, making sure to knock on all the doors that the swordsmen had missed. The Guide had made sure that everybody in the library knew the plan, including the librarian. If things went to plan, then everybody would be there – friends and family members would tell each-other, and when the people were gathered then me and the swordsmen (or _the swordsmen and I_, according to the Guide) would do a quick run-through of the houses just to check that nobody was left behind when the mayor herded everybody into the church.

Everything was going to plan . . . But as the clock ticked I began to realise that there wasn't much of a plan to follow to begin with. I really had rushed into this unprepared . . . the mayor was right, this would cause mass panic . . .

But that's his concern, not mine. He's the one who approved my spur-of-the-moment plan.

As the sky began to turn orange, it seemed that everyone was in the square, ready in-front of a stage that the mayor had prepared to make his announcements. I wondered whether the stage was there so that everyone could see him or to make himself seem taller and, therefore, more grand.

The swordsmen, the Guide and I stood behind the stage, waiting for the mayor. We had checked the houses and were certain that everybody was gathered and ready. And, judging by some of the figures before us, they had likely had an early dinner as well.

We stayed there for a few minutes as the sky turned from orange to pink, and soon parts of it were a navy blue and the first stars of the night were shining. All the while I had my eyes trained on a hill in the distance – the one which had yet to die.

As we stood there I watched the trees on it slowly wilt, the remaining leaves turning a sickly purple, and I couldn't help but feel as if I had abandoned my post as the grass died and thorns took root in the corpses of flowers. It was all so terrible . . . It was exactly the kind of thing that I was meant to stop. But at the moment, I was more concerned with protecting the people of this land than the plants, no matter what my instincts screamed at me. I watched as the last of the purity and light dissipated, and I silently prayed that I would be able to undo all of the wrong that had been done to this place.

But as I clasped my hands together to disguise my inner turmoil, I felt a stabbing pain shoot up through my left arm. My hand . . . How could I have forgotten? I winced at my stupidity and hid my hand behind my back.

"You okay?" the Guide asked quietly. "What's up with your hand?"

"I – nothing." I said hastily said with another wince – he must've spotted some of the bandages peeking out from underneath my gloves.

"Something, obviously. Show me your hand!"

"What? No! I'm fine!" I shouted as quietly as possible.

"If you're fine then show me your hand."

Well, he had me there . . .

". . . It's nothing, really, Guide. I'll be fine."

"Zelda68, you're supposed to be taking on goblins tonight! If you're hurt, you have to let me know!"

"But that's why you're here!" I said with a smile. "To be the one who protects me when I'm surrounded, and I've given you more than enough weapons to do it."

The Guide frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the mayor walked out onto the stage and the village square erupted in applause, drowning out his words. The mayor took position on the centre of the stage and smiled, raising a hand. Immediately, the clapping stopped.

"Wow," I whispered. "No wonder Christina was surprised when the mayor was so nice to her . . . He's ridiculously powerful."

The mayor dropped his hand as the last of the applause faded out, and was soon faced by a crowd of expectant faces.

"Thank you all for gathering here at this late hour," he began majestically. "I am afraid that I come before you to give grave news indeed." Murmurs began spreading through the crowd, but the mayor continued. "It appears . . . And I assure you there is no cause to panic, but it appears that a small group of goblins have settled in and are currently hiding out in this village." The murmurs turned into startled gasps and wails that spread like wildfire. Children clung to parents and people gave paranoid glances around, as if worried that a goblin was lurking in the shadows.

So much for keeping control . . . I paused for a second with a frown. The goblins would no doubt be suspicious after their scout had not come back, and if one of them was listening in on this then they would know for sure that they had been found out, and then no doubt would be ready for us when we went looking for them . . . They might even try to attack the people. And so I too cast a glance into the shadows, and saw that the once dark alley that I had lit up illuminated amongst the mostly dark streets.

I kept my eyes trained on the shadows that darkened most of the streets as the sun was disappearing. If any goblin was watching, it would make our job ten times harder. But I couldn't see the sharp features and mildly luminous yellow eyes of a goblin anywhere in the distance. Of course, I had made sure to hide the body of the goblin scout after I had discovered and killed it in case its kin came looking for it, but I also kept my eye on the broken door of Christina's old house, just in case another scout went to take up its place.

After a few seconds in which there was no movement, I turned back to the shocked crowd. It was easy enough to pick out the flame red hair of Sarita, and I could also see Christina holding Amethyst tight. Sarita didn't look so much scared as excited by the whole thing, but Christina in contrast seemed genuinely frightened and held her baby and her child as tight as possible. Amethyst, for her part, seemed unfazed by the whole thing.

I looked through the crowd, spotting a few more familiar faces. Leaf was among those in the outskirts of the crowd, no doubt avoiding the attention that he normally drew to himself. Everyone looked scared for the most part, and as I glanced at the swordsmen around me I couldn't help but notice that they seemed nervous as well. Some people were simply pale, as if they were close to fainting.

But something was wrong . . . Something didn't fit . . . What? I could practically smell the stench of goblins in the air, but I saw nothing but the townsfolk.

"People, please!" said the mayor loudly. "I assure you, there is no need for panic! The situation is being dealt with, please listen!" The chatter died out, and a sea of nervous faces turned to the mayor. "Thank you."

The mayor continued his speech, but his choice of words meant little to me. Something didn't fit, something was wrong . . . I could sense it . . .

"What is it?" the Guide whispered, noticing my discomfort.

"Something's wrong . . ." I replied vaguely, my eyes scanning the crowd. The Guide frowned and joined me in staring, searching for whatever was wrong.

I could see the librarian, and the builders, and the architect. I recognised practically everybody from somewhere, whether from around town or the library. Nobody that didn't belong here. But that's when I spotted it – towards the back of the crowd was a short figure in a dark cloak of shadows . . . Shadows that moved, as if alive . . .

The demon! It was here!

"Guide!" I whispered urgently. "Do you see her, in front of the café?"

"What?" he asked. "I see someone, who is it?"

"The demon." I whispered, my face stony and expressionless. "It's here." The Guide followed my gaze and looked back at me, eyes widened in shock.

"What do we do?" he asked. "Everyone is here!"

"It's not going to hurt anyone . . . It's just here to play with our heads."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, sounding more concerned than frightened.

". . . I just am." I replied truthfully. How did I know that? Had the demon put it into my head? It certainly felt like my own thought . . .

Then, as if on cue, the demon stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. It had been keeping an eye on me, and perhaps still was, but it wasn't here to start a fight. It wasn't time to play yet.

"What did I tell you?" I asked the Guide with a small smirk. He mumbled an agreement and cast a paranoid glance around. I smiled at the amateur – the demon was gone, I was sure of it. The foul aroma of the corruption had left with the shadows. I turned back to the mayor and realised that he was still speaking, and that everybody was frozen in place listening.

"I assure you, through careful deliberation –"

Careful deliberation? I had come up with the plan on the spot, and he had just agreed!

"– A fool-proof plan –"

I wished it was fool-proof, but it really wasn't . . .

"– Is to be set in motion tonight. All of you are to gather inside the church –" Murmurs of agreement and disagreement swept through the townsfolk, all of them still frozen it place with the shock and realisation of the truth about the goblins.

I stopped listening again as I heard something, the sound of a walking arsenal jingling about. The foul stench was back, pressing in on my senses from all sides. I could smell it in the air and taste it on my tongue, it was most definitely here. But what was it? It wasn't the demon, it wasn't like the stagnant air of the corruption. Had the demon left a monster behind? But no . . . this monster wasn't of the corruption. What was it?

"With the swordsmen to protect you," continued the mayor. "In case the goblins leave their hide-out. Meanwhile, a party will be sent out to hunt for the goblins –" What was it? There was something there, there was something wrong . . . "And slay them where they hide." I glanced around, paranoid. The mayor had just revealed the entire plan! If a goblin was listening in, everything was ruined . . . "If something goes wrong –" Something was wrong, I could smell it . . . I continued scanning the crowd, looking at every frozen face. "Then the swordsmen will be here to protect you –" I spotted something, something odd – a flicker of movement at the back of the crowd, as if someone was only passing through. "And so will the party that is to go hunting for the goblins."

"But if the swordsmen aren't hunting for the goblins then who is?" asked someone in the crowd. I saw it again – someone was moving, someone sticking to the back of the  
>people . . .<p>

"Someone that I trust implicitly with this task." The mayor answered easily.

I got a clear view of the figure – somebody in a dark cloak, but this cloak wasn't made of shadows but was a deep brown fabric, with a rope acting as drawstring around the person's waist. With the light behind them, the face of the figure was hidden in shadows. Why would a person hide their entire body like that . . .?

Unless it wasn't a person . . .

The figure stopped, perhaps noticing that my eyes were trained on it. For a split second, I could see something that confirmed my suspicions, and I nudged the Guide to look in the figure's direction. I could see the distinctly hooked nose of the figure, with a single ring piercing set in it. A nose so green it was almost blue.

Another scout. If I didn't sort it out before it got back to wherever the goblins were hiding, we were screwed!

"Everybody into the church!" ordered the mayor, and the swordsmen got up to move to their families. I stopped Robert by pulling on his cloak and ordered, my eyes still trained on the goblin, frozen in the spot as the crowd began to move:

"You, Kilgan and Felix stay guard outside the church." The man nodded and turned after his friends.

"Good luck!" he shouted back at me. I shot him a smile, turning back to the goblin.

The scout seemed unsure what to do. If he walked away then he would draw attention to himself, but if he went with the crowd then he would be stuck inside the church and almost certainly be noticed. But then it turned and noticed that my eyes were still trained on it, and it decided that it had to run. It turned around, as discreetly as possible, and began walking back into the shadows.

Big mistake. You shouldn't leave your back turned if there's a hero proficient in archery behind you.

I took my bow off my shoulder and reached into my quiver and grabbed an arrow, drawing more than a few stares from the crowd.

"Zelda68?" asked the Guide urgently, his wide eyes trained on the arrow. "What are you doing?" I shot him a glare. How could he not have noticed the goblin? He certainly had to pick up on a few skills if he was ever going to be a hero.

I closed one eye and peered down the shaft of the readied arrow, trying to judge where the correct angle would be if I was to hit the goblin. I drew back the arrow and then released, the arrow flying swiftly into the darkening sky. A couple of unsuspecting people let out wails of fear, perhaps thinking that the goblins were firing upon them, but the arrow flew over all of their heads and hit the goblin square in the chest, sending him toppling over and impaling him against the cobblestone footpath.

In short, killing him.

The people all turned their shocked faces to the goblin, whose hood had fallen off after he had toppled. It was a scout alright. Thank god I had killed it before it had reported its findings to the others.

I walked over to the corpse, the Guide hot on my heels, and took the bloody arrow out of the goblin's chest. It made a sickening _squelch_ when I removed the last of the head from the wound that it had created, and I drew out a cloth and did my best to wipe off all of the blood and icky bits off the arrow.

"How did you know he was there?" the Guide asked, shocked. I sighed and turned to him, pointing the head of the arrow into his face and making him go cross-eyed.

"Keep your eyes open," I ordered. "At all times. If you think something isn't right, don't just ignore it. Find the fault and get rid of it."

I put the arrow back over my shoulder, the Guide's careful eyes following it until it was back in place. I put my bow back over my shoulder, and turned back towards the church to see half a dozen people gawking at me, among them children and Felix.

"That was sooo awesome!" announced the little boy I recognised as Kilgan's son. "You skewered the goblin!"

"I did." I answered with a smile. "Now head back to your family, you need to stay in the church." The boy smiled and headed towards the slowly disappearing flow of people heading into the heavy, wooden church doors. A couple of other children headed away, too shy to talk, but Felix and a man and woman, husband and wife no doubt, stayed.

"Is the mayor sending you to go after the goblins?" the man asked, pointing an accusing finger in my face as if that were a bad thing.

"Well . . . yes." I replied as politely as possible. "Why?"

"It's just plain irresponsible to send a child to do something like this, even with all of that ridiculous gear!" he responded as rudely as possible, his finger now directed at my weapons. I glared at the man and took a step forward and the Guide held a hand in-front of me to stop me, but I couldn't stop my anger from being channelled.

"I'm not a child!" I protested, and I watched as Felix tapped the man in the shoulder and gestured for the man and his wife to walk away. Not looking for a fight with a swordsman, the man and the woman headed back towards the church and Felix turned to me with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry about them." He said with a shy smile. "They're Sarita and Christina's neighbours, and they can be a little annoying from time to time."

"A little," I grumbled in response, shifting my weight from foot to foot in an effort to contain my anger. "But sorry, what is it?"

"I want to come with you." He announced, drawing his sword. "Kilgan and Robert can guard the outside of the church, if the goblins do come at all. They don't need me there, but I don't think you two can handle this on your own."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Said the Guide sarcastically with a smile. "But we might actually need your help."

"Christina will never let you." I said immediately. Felix blinked and then winced.

"Well . . . does she have to know?" he asked, sounding incredibly guilty.

"Up to you. If you really wanna hunt some goblins, then come with us. But if you want to protect her then head back to the church."

"Aren't hunting the goblins and protecting her the same thing?" he asked, a small amount of blush creeping through his cheeks. I grinned.

"S'pose so." I said with a grin. "But you'll never make your way through the goblins with just that." I said, gesturing to his sword. "It's barely even sharp." I reached into my pouch and drew out the night's bane, one of my most powerful swords and handed it to him. His eyes widened with admiration and respect.

"Uh . . . thanks." He responded, staring at the sword with wide eyes as the blush continued to creep over his fine features.

"You're welcome," I said with a grin, casting a glance back to the last of the villagers disappearing into the church.

Everyone was safe . . . it was time to act.

"Come on," I instructed the Guide and Felix simply heading into one of the abandoned alleyways of the village. "We need to find them before they figure out that something's wrong."

I drew my sword carefully from its sheath, making the singing ring that it did whenever I had sharpened it. As we entered the darkness of the alleyway I cast a glance at the hilt that I had so carefully forged, watching as the meteorite embedded in the hilt began to give off a luminous glow and the hellstone cast a faint light, like a torch. As I held the sword like a torch (albeit a weak one) and used it to look around, watching as the thin gold and silver plated on the blade shimmer with the reflection of the light, I couldn't help but smirk to myself smugly.

Maybe not my most powerful sword, but certainly my best.

I pulled a torch off the wall and held it far from me.

"Guide?" I asked. "Would you do the honours?" He grinned and loaded the Phoenix Blaster, aiming carefully. He'd seen me do this a million times before. He couldn't miss. But, just to be safe, he pressed the end of the gun almost right up against the head of the torch before he fired.

A bullet, ringed in flame by the hellstone of the gun, hit the tip of the torch and set it alight. The Guide stared at it for a moment before turning to look at the houses, content that he was as awesome as he thought he was.

Sometimes he is, sometimes he really isn't.

"Guide, Felix, you go that side," I said, indicating towards the set of small buildings that made up the left side of the alleyway. "I'll take the right. If you hear a scout, don't move. Catch them before they have time to react. If it's a scout, rip off the cloth around it's waist just in case."

"Just in case?" Felix asked with a puzzled frown as the Guide reloaded his (or rather my) gun. "In case of what?"

"In case worst comes to worst and we have to call them out of hiding and fight them on the spot. Now go." The two men nodded and started off into one of the houses, the Guide lighting himself another torch. I headed into one of the other houses, having to beat the door down this time.

Nothing special. A few chairs and a mantelpiece, and a tiny kitchen and small bathroom. No footprints, no snores, just a thin layer of dust coating everything. I kept my sword at the ready and headed up the narrow set of stairs, opening the door to one of three bedrooms. Nothing in here either. Just a bed and a desk and a few old toys. I headed back out into the tiny upper hallway, opening the next door. Just a bed and desk, but no toys this time. Boring as ever.

I opened the last door. A double bed, a couple of lamps and –

A scream.

My thoughts were cut off as an unusually high-pitched scream echoed into my ears, followed by a grunt and a gunshot . . .

What?

I ran back down the stairs as fast as I could go, slamming the door open again and running into the house which Felix and the Guide had gone into. There, on the floor between the Guide and Felix, was a dead goblin scout. The corpse had a bullet lodged between its ribs, with a thin circular burn encompassing it. The Phoenix Blaster. The Guide. Felix had the Night's Edge at the ready and was staring at the body, as if expecting it to jump up again and finish them off.

Okay, so a Goblin had appeared and then someone had screamed, so Felix drew his sword and the Guide shot it . . . but then . . .

"What the hell was that scream?" I asked, trying to keep my concern from showing in my voice. Immediately, a bright red blush crept over the Guide's face.

"I, uh . . . wasn't expecting it." He answered quickly, a grin suddenly erupting on Felix's face. I couldn't help but smirk and cross my arms at him, an eyebrow raised.

"So you decided to scream?" I asked, unimpressed.

"It was a spur of the moment decision!" he said with a glare.

"Like a little girl?"

"It was dark! A goblin jumped me!"

"Nine, maybe ten years old. I'm seeing pigtails. Frilly skirt."

Felix abruptly coughed to prevent himself from bursting out laughing, his face suddenly serious. He bent down and tore a piece of cloth off the scout's waist, as the Guide and I immediately engaged in a glaring contest.

"One down," he said encouragingly, trying to make us once again come to terms with the seriousness of the situation. "How many to go?" I blinked.

"Uh . . . not too many." He raised an eyebrow. "I don't actually know. How could I? But not too many, I think. Not too many could go undetected."

"I certainly hope so," he muttered, putting the Night's Edge away. "There are only three of us."

"Only?" The Guide asked as I raised an eyebrow. "That's one more than there would've been if this whole thing had gone to plan, and don't forget that there are a dozen swordsmen that we can call on if we need to."

"I suppose . . ." he said, heading for the door. "What should we do with the body?"

"Leave it here," I said simply, and the Guide shuddered. "If we do anything else to it the goblins will know. We'll clear it up once the goblins are gone."

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the doorstep. My hand instinctively rocketed to the hilt of my sword but the Guide raised his torch, revealing a familiar figure.

"Robert!" Felix exclaimed. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be taking care of the church!"

"I – I know, but . . . I heard a scream, so I came to check if you were alright." His eyes scanned the goblin corpse, and he hesitated. "But . . . who . . ."

"Him," I said immediately, pointing an accusing finger at the Guide. "The goblin and the ridiculously girly scream." Even in the dim torchlight the red blush on the Guide's face and neck was clear. "If you hear a scream like that again then stay where you are, but if you hear a slightly less girly scream then you come running with a couple of the others. Okay?" The Guide frowned and turned to me.

"What if I'm screaming because I'm having my flesh torn off by goblins?" He asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Goblins don't tear flesh off," I said simply. "You're thinking of zombies. And given that I consider breathing overrated then you'd better watch your skin if you plan on screaming like that again. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"It's not like I could help it," he muttered, heading for the doorway as Robert cleared it. Robert nodded at me and headed back to the church.

Without another word, we left the house and began searching the others on the street together. The first four houses contained nothing of any significance, save the old painting of a familiar face from around the village or dust-covered memories. Nothing important – or nothing ready to jump out at us from the shadows, at least. In fact, there was nothing of significance on the ready-to-jump-out-of-the-shadow-scale in any of the houses in that alleyway.

Perhaps there was only one goblin in each street, or maybe they only came out of hiding for quick raiding trips or simply to find out what the humans were up to. Perhaps they were living in bigger buildings. No way to tell.

It was in the third house we were scanning in the second alley that something occurred to me. A childish, ill thought out idea that I, none the less, felt the need to express.

"Felix?" I asked as I began ascending the steps. He turned to me, open to whatever I had to say. "How is it that the sinks and other things here work? Not magic, obviously." He frowned slightly and paused for a moment, thinking.

"Well," he began, a fatherly note in his voice. "When I was a kid, we had to go to the well and lower and raise the bucket into the aquifer beneath the village if we wanted water."

"Aquifer?" I asked. "Is that, like, an underground lake or something?"

"A body of water hidden underground," the Guide answered without having to look up. "Can be a problem when building if there's nothing but soil between the aquifer and a building, because the structure can sink into the ground, but if there's rock or minerals then it's perfect because you can easily access water if you break a small hole in the rock and build a well, as the water is always pure if it hasn't been touched." Felix shook his head disbelievingly.

"How can you possibly –"

"That's him. That's what he does." I said, waving a hand dismissively.

"But he's never even been to school!" The Guide raised his head and his eyebrows, likely praying that I wouldn't reveal the truth about his dictionary obsession.

. . . No. I could still get a thing or two out of him because of that. It's not blackmail if you're a hero and the victim is your guide.

"He has his means," I say simply. "Continue."

"Well," he said after a moment of staring obnoxiously at the Guide. "A while later the mayor set up a system of pipes that lead from the aquifer and into taps at sinks that he had installed in all of the houses. It was a pretty big undertaking, he basically had to dig up most of the ground around the village, but it was worth it. Now all you have to do is turn a tap and then you've got plenty of fresh water."

"What if it runs out?"

"Well . . . I don't understand the exact science – or indeed magic – involved, but I don't think it can."

I nodded, the information settling into my brain. I frowned when something occurred to me.

"What about piranhas?" I asked. Felix blinked.

"What _about_ piranhas?" He asked, face vacant.

"Well, if the water from the aquifers reaches the houses through pipes, what about the piranhas in the water?"

"I don't know if there _are_ piranhas in the water." He said slowly as the Guide shook his head.

"They're more common than you might think. Don't they get stuck in the pipes? Or didn't they used to when you were a kid, didn't they come up in the bucket?"

". . . I think . . . that would've been a pretty rare occasion." I nodded then frowned.

"Mustn't ever discount piranhas, though. That's gotten me into some pretty ugly situations in the past."

". . . I see." Felix said slowly. I laughed.

"I know, right? My life before I came here was pretty absurd."

"Yes." The Guide and Felix said together. I smiled and walked up the stairs.

Two bedrooms, both empty. Nothing interesting. I sighed . . . a while ago today had seemed pretty promising in terms of interest . . . why can't the goblins just ambush me and get it over with?

I gave the all clear and the three of us moved into the next house, the one directly opposite Christina's old house. Felix seemed somewhat hesitant, but in the end I simply gave him a shove in the right direction and he followed me.

"Why so slow?" I asked jokingly. "What's wrong with this house?" Felix opened his mouth as if to answer, but then closed it and began to study the floor intently. "You can tell me, y'know. You know almost all of my secrets."

"Almost?" He asked, and I became glad that the Guide was upstairs, out of earshot.

"Very nearly all, the others aren't important. What's wrong with this house?" Felix took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes.

"This was my house," he said slowly. "From when I was a kid."

"Right across from Christina's?" I asked with a grin. He frowned at me.

"How do you know that?" He asked immediately. I raised my eyebrows.

"Christina's house was the one with the first scout in it. But anyway, you haven't answered my question." His frown didn't falter.

"Yes, I have. I told you, this is my house."

"And why is that a bad thing?" I paused, subconsciously tilting my head somewhat like the Guide when he would try to read my face. "More bad memories than good?"

"I guess," he said, trying to push past me and into the doorway, but I continued blocking him. He sighed. "My parents . . . they were just so . . . religious." I raised an eyebrow.

"And yet you ended up with Christina, the quiet, shy, devout girl across the street?" He gave a small laugh.

"She has her own personality, you know. She's not just the epitome of a believer."

"I know," I said with a smile, "but ninety per-cent of that personality is unknown to me, and the other ten is simply the part of her that is Sarita and Amethyst's mother and 'the believer.'"

"Maybe you should get to know her a bit more." He said with a smile. I paused.  
>"Uh . . . can I go in now?" I smiled.<p>

"No," I said. "No, I don't think you can." He frowned at me again.

"Why?" He demanded.

"Because you're frowning again, and you're not a child anymore." Felix smiled, and I nodded and granted him access.

The first thing I did after a brief scan of the room was head for the mantelpiece. No photos, just a clock and a cross.

Very religious indeed.

No paintings, nothing else. Felix headed past me and towards an old armchair, picking up the cushion to reveal a small painting, in the same style as the one that had been in the other house. Perhaps Christina's mother had painted it . . . and then given it to Felix.

"What was it doing in the chair?" I asked curiously, Felix hiding the painting from my view.

"I hid it there," he admitted. "This used to be my chair. My parents didn't approve of me spending so much time with Christina, and when her father painted this and gave it to me I didn't want them to see it. I think I should keep it . . ."

"Can I see it?" I ask, but Felix kept the painting close. I frown at him. "When I said 'Can I see it?', what I meant was 'Show it to me'."

"You don't need to see it. It's just a painting."

"Of you and Christina when you were kids, right?"

"Right."

"So why can't I see it?"

"Well . . . it's not important."

"Exactly! So let me see it." Felix held my gaze for a moment before sagging in defeat and handing me the picture.

It was a beautiful little portrait of a young girl and a little boy in the evening light, facing me with smiles. The girl was obviously Christina, but slightly younger than in the other picture. She had shoulder-length brown hair with wave running through it, slightly less frizzy than usual, and a beautiful small smile, wearing a simple custard dress. However, my face split into a wide grin when I saw the boy.

It was Felix, no doubt. His red hair was wild and untamed and he wore a simple pair of jeans and a baggy shirt, and was holding a wooden play sword over his shoulder, grinning widely. He would've been no older than eight, slightly older than the girl. I glanced from the boy to Felix and laughed.

"You looked so cute!" I laughed. He immediately blushed and lowered his gaze. "I really don't see why you didn't want me to see it." I said, handing the painting back to him. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a noise from upstairs.

I resisted the urge to bolt up the stairs when I realised what it was – the Guide had dropped something. I heard him utter a curse and pick up whatever it was, putting it back up.

"You all right?" I called up to him.

"Yeah," he grumbled back. "It landed on my foot." I grinned.

_This really isn't his day, is it?_ I couldn't help but observe.

"I thought that a goblin raid would be more exciting," the Guide said with a frown as he came down the stairs. "We've only seen one. Everything else has been boring."

"Well, when we figure out where the goblins are actually hiding it's bound to get a bit more exciting," I said with raised eyebrows. "And an awful lot more violent."

"Nothing up there?" asked Felix.

"No, nothing. This was your house, wasn't it?"

"Yeah . . ." A small frown creased his face. "But what did you drop? On your foot?" The Guide blushed.

". . .Nothing."

"Something!" I argued. The Guide tried to hide his face.

"Well, just . . . a thing."

"A thing?" Felix and I asked in unison.

"A . . . book." He admitted.

"Well, what were you embarrassed about then?" I asked.

"It wasn't just any book!" He said with a glare. "It was a . . ."

"Yes?"

". . . Dictionary. A particularly heavy one." Felix gave a strange laugh and I turned to him with a frown.

"Yes . . . I did have a few of them," Felix admitted with a grin. "When I was young. I had a bit of an obsession." My eyes widened with genuine shock.

"So you were like the Guide?" I asked. "And now you're a swordsman?" Felix nodded with a smile.

"Well, that's promising." I said, throwing a grin at the Guide. "Perhaps you're not as hopeless as you seem to be." The Guide smiled back, taking that as a compliment. Good. That's how it was meant. The Guide and Felix turned their smiles on each other and laughed. I, however, couldn't help but freeze with a frown.

Did I just hear something? Or was it my imagination? Or even the demon?

But then I heard it again. It was barely audible, but it was the sound of a foot against the cobblestones of the alleyway. Not a shoe, a foot. I pressed a finger to my lips at the Guide and Felix and they frowned at me but did as they were told. The rhythm continued for no more than a few seconds before stopping, as if it knew that it had been heard.

If it was a goblin, then we were screwed.

Because if it was a goblin, then it was coming to check on the scout that hadn't come back to report. And if it had seen the corpse, then it knew that we knew.

And then they would be prepared when we found them . . . or worse, attack the church.

I caught a whiff of a foul smell on the air, confirming my suspicions. It was a goblin all right.

I bolted outside, followed by the unsure stares of the Guide and Felix, and looked around. At the end of the alleyway I caught a glimmer of movement – the tail end of a brown cloak disappearing from sight.

It was a goblin all right . . .

I ran after the goblin, the Guide shouting after me. I reached the end of the alleyway and looked around, clutching the hilt of my sword tightly. I looked around the village square, half an eye on the church.

No movement.

I stood still. The goblin was hiding somewhere in the shadows, I could sense it. I could smell it's stench on the air, and almost hear its frantic rasping breaths as it tried to slow it's pulse.

In a moment the Guide and Felix were there beside me. The Guide had the Minishark at the ready, and Felix the Night's Edge.

But then I heard a familiar sound – the whistling of an arrow slicing through the wind. An arrow that wasn't perfectly aerodynamic, but lethal just the same. A goblin arrow no doubt.

"Get down!" I shouted to the Guide and Felix, and just in time. The three of us fell to the ground just as the head of the arrow would have sliced through my head. I jumped up immediately, leaving the other two to catch their breath.

I tore my bow off my back and nocked an arrow in it, letting the bowstring loose as soon as the arrow was in place with an audible _twang_.

Praying that my aim was true, the arrow hit the goblin archer square in the chest, and it was sent toppling off the roof of a building with an inhuman curse in its horrible, guttural language.

I cast a glance around, looking for the scout . . .

Nothing.

I uttered a sware under my breath.

Yeah . . . we're screwed.


	27. School at Night

**An Interlude**

I looked up at the giant stained glass window at the front of the church in boredom. We'd been in here for hours, and the most exciting thing that had happened was hearing a girly scream, which Robert had later confirmed as the Guide's. That had made me laugh at the time, but now it just seemed silly.

I sat on one of the long wooden benches in the church, clutching my sister in my arms. Mum was off somewhere among the crowd (praying, no doubt), and Amethyst was fast asleep despite the amount of chatter around us. Of course, this wasn't the first time that the entire village had gathered inside the church (that happened almost every week), but it was the first time that it was because of goblins.

_Goblins_, for god's sake!

. . . You would think that the prospect of goblins hiding in the village would make the evening more eventful, but it had been dark for ages and nothing had happened so far. Nothing whatsoever – or at least nothing important in the grand scheme of things. I had noticed a few people gossiping about Zelda68 – no doubt wondering about how it was that an 18-year-old girl was more qualified than the swordsmen to go looking for goblins. The conversations had probably been started by our neighbour's wife – she was the local gossip mongrel and I had seen her and her husband go up to Zelda68 after she killed that goblin scout – which, by the way, was awesome.

Felix had gone with her of course – good on him. Mum was spending most of her time fretting about what might happen to him of course, but I was just glad that he had taken it upon himself to go with her. And, in the grand scheme of things, that was as good as guarding the church. That, if nothing else, proved that he was as good (or at least as courageous) a swordsman as my father, as he spoke out and insisted to work by the side of the hero. I'm sure that my father would have done the same . . . or at least, I'd like to think so.

Amethyst gave a soft gurgle in my sleep and I couldn't help but grin, supressing my urge to squeal. She was just so cute! It was hard to believe that she was the same baby that kept me awake most nights. Amethyst opened her eyes for a brief second before closing them again, content with my company. I sighed . . . her eyes . . . they were just like Felix's. Not like mine at all . . .

I looked around for my mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. Poor mum . . . I didn't mind sitting at the back of the class at school, but she had a whole lot more to deal with. Wherever she went there was likely someone whispering behind her back . . . the birth of Amethyst had caused more silent controversy than I first realised. And now there were eyebrows being raised at how much time she was spending at the mayor's with Felix and the other swordsmen, despite the fact that none of the other men's wives came with them.

. . . Wives? What? No! They aren't married yet!

But they would be soon . . . What had the mayor said? That he'd help her 'skip the queue?' When did that mean? A month? A week? A day? There was no way of telling . . .

I didn't object to the idea of Felix and mum getting married . . . I like him, and I'm glad that she's happy with him. I just hate the idea of the fact that it's possible that my father is still alive should they marry, and if he came back then what would that do to my mother? What about Felix? I looked down at the baby in my arms. What about Amethyst?

I stretched my legs and paused, hearing a familiar name. I turned to listen to a group of women who seemed to be talking about none other than Zelda68.

"She's so young!" exclaimed one of them. "How does she know how to shoot a bow like that?"

"Have you noticed just how muscly she is?" asked another. "Honestly, it's not healthy!"

"I've never seen her around town before. Who are her parents?" asked a woman with ridiculously long fingernails.

"I don't think she's _from_ town," the second one said. "I recognise every face in this church apart from hers."

"But she's not in this church." Interjected my neighbour, appearing imperiously out of the crowd (she does everything imperiously). "Didn't you hear? She's the one that the mayor sent out to fight the goblins!"

"She what?" asked the other women, gasping dramatically.

"But she's no older than my daughter! How does he expect her to do that?"

"The poor girl!"

"I know," said my neighbour, putting on a dramatically sympathetic expression (dramatic and imperious. That's her). "There's no way she'd be able to take them on."

Another figure appeared out of the crowd, a frown on her face. I immediately recognised her as one of the last mages in the village, and the youngest. "I don't know about that," she said, crossing her arms. "She skewered that goblin earlier. Who's to say she couldn't take on more than one? From what I can tell she has quite a history behind her."

"A child?" My neighbour demanded imperiously. "Take on an army of goblins? I think not, Abigail." The young mage narrowed her steel-grey eyes.

"I sensed a strong magical power emanating from her. I can't be sure what it was, but if I'm right then she is far more powerful than she appears. Perhaps even more powerful than the mayor himself."

"Nonsense! How could a sixteen-year-old child do something like that?"

"Eighteen," she corrected the woman, standing up straight. "And, as she said to you, she's not a child. Give her a chance before condemning her to your gossip and you may be surprised at the results." With that she disappeared back into the mass of people, leaving the gossip mongrels to stare dumbstruck after her.

Ha! They got what they had coming, doubting the Hero of Terraria like that.

But my thoughts were interrupted by a shout in an achingly familiar voice, coming from not far outside the church.

"Get down!" Zelda68 cried loudly, followed by the _chunk_ of an arrow embedding itself in stone. I heard a faint _twang_ followed by a suspiciously goblin-ish scream, and then silence.

For a moment, everyone in the hall was silent.

Then it was broken by the heavy doors to the church creaking open, revealing Zelda68 and the Guide, the Hero sliding what looked suspiciously like a bloodied arrow into her quiver.

There was an awkward silence as Zelda68 and the Guide looked through the crowd, Felix catching up to Robert and Kilgan behind them.

". . . Er," Zelda68 said after a moment, gazing shyly through the crowd. "S'cuse me." She immediately began sneaking through the crowd, working her way through the stares of everybody. "Sorry, excuse me, sorry, I need to get to the mayor so if you'll just move over . . ."

The mayor burst through the crowd, pushing her back into the open.

"We need to talk," she blurted out. The mayor nodded and led them into the open air as the Guide began to blush. Zelda68 cast a glance over her shoulder to see the stares of the townsfolk still focused on her, and made a dazed attempt at a smile.

I blinked.

. . . Okay . . .

No, actually. Not okay.

What the hell is going on?

Amethyst gave a small gurgle, as if to say as much, and I shrugged with a sigh.

Why does everything have to be _quite_ so mad?

**X X X**

"I don't believe this," the mayor whispered. "How could they have caught on to us so quickly?"

"Don't ask me." I said, running my good hand through my hair. "These ones must be a bit cleverer than we thought . . . maybe spending so much time in a human village has enlightened them a bit. Either way, we have to attack them before they attack us."

"But we don't even know where they're hiding!" The Guide cried. "How are we supposed to do that?" I sighed, then looked up at the mayor.

"What buildings in the village would be able to conceal a large group of goblins?" I asked with a frown. The mayor paused and frowned.

"Not that many," he admitted, raising his eyebrows. "You don't think they've been hiding in abandoned houses, then?"

"Well, no. I've been through half of the old streets in the village and only come across two goblins, so I think they're somewhere else. Where else could they hide?"

". . . Well, I suppose there are only a couple of buildings big enough, and most of them are populated. There's the church, obviously, but there's no way they're in there. And I suppose there's my house, but I'd know if they were there . . . there aren't that many places where they could hide . . . I suppose the most likely place would be . . ."

". . . Yes?"

"Well . . . I know this sounds unlikely, but they may be hiding inside one of the old schools." I raised my eyebrows. "I know it's ridiculous, but it makes sense. The old campuses are a fair size, and no one goes there anymore. Perfect for hiding."

"How many old schools are there?" The mayor crossed his arms.

"Well . . . the people voted to have them knocked down around a year ago, but I'm a bit behind on my paperwork so not all of them have gone yet. I suppose there's only one  
>left."<p>

"Just one? You're sure?"

"Positive! That must be where they're hiding." I grinned adjusted the weight of my sword on my back.

"Right, then that's where we're going. Where is it?"

"I know the way," the Guide answered. "But shouldn't we bring the swordsmen with us?"

"He's right." Said the mayor immediately, holding up a hand to stop me from arguing. "I know you've taken on armies before, but this is different. There are a lot of people's lives at stake here. Besides, if what you've told me is true then these goblins are different from the ones back in Terraria. They're smarter, more advanced, and more dangerous."

"Fine, I'll take a few healing potions. Don't worry, the people are safe."

"But Zelda68 –"

"This isn't the time to argue! If we don't get there fast we'll have to take on all of them from here. We're losing our advantage. We have to go, now!"

Without another word the Guide and I ran off, leaving the mayor to shout orders to the swordsmen. If we had not been running so fast I might have heard the mayor shouting:

"You two, barricade the church door from the inside! Send the people into the basement! Oh, and Felix, go after her. For god's sake, make sure that she doesn't get killed before she can save this place. Watch your back too, I don't want to arrange your funeral instead of your wedding!"

The Guide lead me through the old streets and alleys until we finally came across a large building, bigger than the church if the grass area inside it's fences counted. I let out an involuntary shudder and the Guide raised an eyebrow at me.

"Never did like schools." I explained as we walked in through the gate, drawing our weapons. "They're so . . . quiet."

"If you actually went to school I'm sure you'd think the opposite." He assured me, loading the Minishark and Phoenix Blaster. I frowned at him.

"But you haven't been to school," I pointed out.

"Well, no, but I'm considering it." I paused in mid-step and stared incredulously at him.

"You can't be serious!" I cried. "Those places are torture chambers, and besides, you're nearly past the age that the children of this place go there!"

"Ssh, unless you want every goblin in the place to hear us!" I reluctantly turned my gaze away from the Guide and turned around with a frown as Felix caught up to us, sweating and breathless in his hot armour.

"Before you say anything," he said, clutching a cramp in his side and raising a finger. "The mayor sent me."

"That'd be right," I muttered, walking towards the old building.

I didn't like this place. There was something eerie about the old children's playgrounds littered about the place – perhaps it was that almost all of the children who had played here had long since fallen to the corruption. Perhaps it was the idea that a group of goblins were using a place that children had once learned in as a shelter from the humans of the village . . . But whatever it was, I didn't like it. Not one bit.

We reached the doors to the large building, pausing to look into the long hallway that ended in a closed door, with classrooms leading off the sides of the corridor.

"You're coming up on your last chance to turn back." I said, turning to Felix.

"Thanks for the offer," he said with a small smile. "But I think I'll pass." I didn't smile back. This man was putting his life and the future happiness of his daughter (not to mention Christina's and Sarita's) at risk, and he was doing it with a smile.

. . . But then again, I suppose I had put my life and the purpose to live of the Guide's at risk every time I stepped out the door. That's the thing about being a hero . . .

Plenty of occupational hazards.

I took a deep breath and stepped past the threshold of the doorway, gripping my sword tightly. I held it raised, ready for an attack at any moment. I frowned.

If this place was the base of a mob of goblins massing for an attack, then where were all the goblins?

I reached for the door for the nearest classroom but frowned when I saw it ajar. I gently pushed it open, wincing at the small _creak_ it made when I did so. I peeked in to see many rows of desks, all directed towards a blackboard. Nothing out of the ordinary, no goblins. I frowned. This wasn't the goblin way at all . . . goblins attack head-on, no matter how powerful you are or what defences you have in place. They don't hide, they don't sneak up on you, and normally they don't sneak around.

However, everything I've seen of these goblins has told me otherwise. They sneak around, they plan surprise attacks, and they consider their options. The goblins back in Terraria would never care about a scout party failing to return, even if their finding out meant that they could win a battle. But these goblins had gone to check on a single scout, just to see if they'd been found out, and then they had done the right thing in massing for an attack. But then, they hadn't massed their forces as soon as they knew and charged, they had waited for the right moment.

These goblins weren't like any others I had encountered before. They were . . . more human. It didn't make sense to me, but it was what had happened.

We moved from that classroom to the next, and at first glance it seemed as empty as the first. I stood still with a frown, trying to work out what was wrong, scanning all of the surfaces, trying to work out what was wrong. There was a faint smell on the air – mingled with the musty smell of the dust, there was the stench of goblins, but it was faint. The Guide tapped on my shoulder and gestured for us to head to the next room, but I stopped him. It was then that I saw it.

All over the place, the dust was disturbed. That wasn't unordinary, it could easily be caused by wind and easier by goblins, but there was something wrong with it. On the large desk where the teacher would have sat, there were disturbances in the dust that didn't match the rest of them. They weren't caused by someone walking nearby, something had been placed on the desk. Something heavy, something that had left small dents in the wood.

I walked up to the desk and traced the shape of the object. There was a long stick, like a handle, and its head was a long, sharp edge on either side of the handle.

Like . . . an axe. Like a ham-axe, but with the hammer part another sharp blade. A deadly weapon.

But goblins don't use axes! Few of them are able to use weapons, most simply use brute strength, and those that do use simple knives and swords, most of which are stolen from humans.

"These goblins are something new . . ." I whispered to myself. The Guide murmured his agreement, and Felix took a deep breath.

We stepped back into the hallway, a frown playing upon my face. I could smell the goblins in the air, pressing in against all of my senses. I almost felt claustrophobic, as if the air that had been disturbed was solid and was ready to crush me. I could march on through it easily enough, but what would the point in that be? My senses were screaming at me, but why? I'd smelled the stench of goblins a hundred times before, what was so different this time? Perhaps the smell was different now that the goblins were different . . . stronger, maybe. But no . . . if anything it was weaker. Perhaps a little more human . . . perhaps the smell had evolved as they had seemed to.

Shaking those thoughts from my head, I continued into the next classroom. I resisted the urge to stick my head out of a window and breathe some fresh air, despite how strong it was. What was it about this place? It wasn't just the goblin smell anymore, it was . . . everything. This whole place, this whole situation. Everything felt wrong. My senses and my instincts were screaming at me, telling me that something was wrong. Something stank.

"Something's wrong," I muttered, receiving a frown from the Guide and a blink from Felix. "Can't you feel it? Can't you smell it?"

"Zelda68," said the Guide in a firm tone. "There's nothing to smell."

"But there is!" I insisted. I looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of my fear. Something was wrong. There was no way that this was the demon playing with me, something was definitely wrong. Something so obvious . . . "If this is the goblin base," I thought aloud. "Then where are all the goblins? There are traces of them, no doubt, but they're almost too neat. Too scarce. There's hardly anywhere for them to hide. They're not in any of the classrooms, we would've heard them by now. They're not here, I'm sure of it. They left."

"How can you be so sure?" asked the Guide.

"I just am," I answered truthfully. "Instinct, I guess. But listen . . . they can't have left the village, there's no way that they can survive in the corruption. They can't head that deep underground, goblins are rubbish miners and they'd only get stuck in a cavern. So where would they go? I can smell them here, and that smell keeps getting stronger and stronger, but it's not because we're getting closer to them, if anything they should be hiding." My eyes widen in a sudden realisation. ". . . They're coming. Here. Soon. But why? They used to be here, but then they left . . . so that we couldn't catch them unprepared. They're hiding, and they're going to come back and fight us. They're on their way. I don't know how I know that or why they're coming, but they are."

"How could you possibly –" The Guide began, but I cut him off.

"These goblins aren't like the ones in Terraria," I interrupted him. "We can tell that much already. The ones back home would run headfirst into any danger, but these ones bothered taking the time to prepare. To find the right place to hide, to train up and forge better weapons. It's like they don't care about winning anymore . . . they care about surviving." I paused, eyes widening in a sudden realisation. "And we're a threat to that. So, assuming that all of that's right, then they would've retreated somewhere safe and sent their best soldiers after us. I suggest you prepare . . . these guys are going to be tougher than I thought."

Without another word I pressed a finger to my lips and crept slowly to the door of the classroom. The smell was all around me, but now that I understood it, it didn't feel like the weight that it had before. The door was wide open, and, drawing my sword stealthily from its sheath, I peeked my eye past the doorframe and looked. The smell wasn't getting any stronger . . .

They were here.

So why couldn't I see anything?

But then I heard something . . . something that, had I been someone else, would have made my heart skip a beat. The goblins were talking, whispering, but not in their usual guttural noises, but like humans, from behind a set of lockers. Their voices were raspy and dry, ill-suited to communicating like humans no doubt.

"You sure they're here?" One asked another. "I don't see nuthin'."

"O'course I'm sure!" Another hissed back. "Why d'ya think 'e put me in charge?"

_He? _He who?

"Oi, you two, I think I can hear something." I heard the Guide suck in his breath behind me, no doubt amazed by this development. The goblin means of communication had always been an interest of his . . .

"I doubt it," the other snapped back. "They must know that we're 'ere by now. They'd be keeping down. Quiet as mices."

"Vat's mice. No' mices."

"And 'ow would you know, eh?" the leader demanded. "You been spending too much time around vose bloody 'unams!"

"Hum_ans_. And it's my job to spend time around them, I'm a thief, remember? I 'ave to –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're a thief. Don't give us the 'ole speech again, will ya?" I couldn't help but smile to myself as I realised that the goblin's way of speaking was similar to the Demolitionist's.

"Yeah, well, we should get 'vis barrier up." Interjected the first goblin. Immediately the lockers began shifting, forming a kind of barricade. I could see a pair of brown-green hands pushing them about.

"Wait, what're ya doin'?" Asked the leader.

"Boss, you said before that I should do this!"

"Wha' if the u-nams hear ya?"

"But you said that they knew we were here already!" Silence for a moment more, followed by a resigned sigh. The building of the barrier continued.

As silently as possible, I took my bow off my back, retreating back into the classroom. I nodded at the Guide, who held the Minishark ready and Felix the Night's Edge. The goblins quickly dissolved into a whispered argument, and I set an arrow ready on the bowstring. I turned around and back to the goblins, letting the bowstring loose and the arrow fly.

"'Ey . . . did ya hear tha –" The goblin was cut off as an arrow impaled one of the others, letting loose a cry. I turned back into the classroom, waiting. The only way for them to get back at us while we're in here is for them to break their own barrier. And until they did that, I could keep firing shots. I readied my bow again and spun out of the doorway . . .

But the goblins were ready for that.

One of them had a blowpipe pointed through a hole in the blockade, and it fired as soon as I appeared. I ducked just in time and retreated back into the classroom. Goblins . . . with blowpipes? That wasn't their style at all! I scowled and reached into my pouch, drawing out three shurikens.

If that's the way they wanna do this, all right.

I darted out of the doorway for no more than a second, before the goblin had time to reload its blowpipe, and threw the shurikens at it in an arc motion. My aim was slightly off with one of them, but the other two flew through the hole on the barrier and stuck themselves into the goblin's flesh. I shivered involuntarily as the goblin cried out and fell to the ground.

"Guide, give me your gun." I whispered. The Guide frowned at me.

"Why? Can't I shoot it?"

"I don't want to shoot it, just give it to me." The Guide blinked, clueless, at me. "Just trust me." The Guide handed me the Minishark, and I paused and reached into my pouch, drawing out a ridiculously oversized Cobalt Shield. I gestured for the Guide and Felix to get ready behind me . . .

And I threw the Minishark onto the floor, pointing at the goblins.

You see, that's the thing about the Minishark . . . unless you're careful with it, it'll go off.

The Minishark began firing, and the three of us crouched behind the shield as the goblins let out cries of terror and pain as the gun began to pepper bullets all over the place. It began spinning on the spot due to the power of the shots it was firing, and a few bullets embedded themselves in our shield before the gun's ammo ran out.

"I hate guns," I thought aloud as I felt around in my pouch. "And I hate  
>explosives . . . but there are times when you have to make sacrifices." I pulled a grenade out, and let out a sigh.<p>

"You carry that around with you all the time?" asked the Guide with wide eyes. I simply raised my eyebrows at him and then headed back into the hallway, snatching up the Minishark in the process.

Few of the goblins were still alive and fewer unharmed, so more than anything it was to put them out of their misery.

I pulled the pin out of the grenade, immediately throwing it at the goblin's barricade. I threw myself back into the classroom and over to the wall furthest from the explosion, the other two already there, and curled myself up into a tight ball.

I didn't dare open my eyes until I was sure that the explosion had subsided, scared of what I might see when the bright light, almost like fire, faded.

The metal shrapnel of the lockers had all but ripped through the walls, littering the place. While the three of us were fine, I couldn't help but notice the limb of a goblin in the hallway.

"How could one grenade do all of that?" The Guide asked, standing up slowly. I smiled grimly at him.

"That wasn't just any grenade, it was one of the Demolitionist's prototypes. The ones that he's lost more than a few limbs to." The Guide nodded his head slowly, but Felix frowned at me from his place on the floor.

"Limbs?" He asked, sounding disgusted. I grinned at him.

"Ah, you haven't met the Demolitionist. Losing limbs is practically an everyday occurrence." I made a face. "I had to convince the Nurse to move closer to his house because –"

"Nobody but us needs to see that picture, Zelda68." The Guide said hastily. I nodded.

Without elaborating like I usually would, we moved back into the hallway and I winced at the picture in front of us.

Not pretty at all. Bits of goblin all over the place.

We moved past the blockade.

"Where do you think they came from?" asked Felix. "Has to be somewhere near here, but where? How?" Neither of us answered. We had no answers to give.

We continued along the hallway, ignoring the classrooms that lead off it, but opened the door at the end. What we saw however was not a classroom, but some kind of teacher's study, at the end of which was another door. I opened it, but realised that it simply followed into a short corridor, leading to the playground outside.

"It doesn't make any sense," I murmured. "There's nothing here."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Said the Guide, calling me back into the teacher's study. I frowned and looked around, and the Guide pointed at a tall cabinet up against the wall. "It doesn't belong here," he said simply. "Look – it's right up against the chair there. Nobody would be able to sit there. And you can see, half of that poster is covered by it. It's been moved. I think it belongs over there." The Guide explained, pointing to an empty space on the wall nearby. I nodded my agreement.

Looking down at the floor, I realised that the cabinet had been moved across the floor a lot. It was covering something all right.

"Felix, Guide, help me." I said, grabbing hold of the cabinet. Together the three of us pushed it away, and I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows when I saw what it had been hiding.

A trapdoor. A tiny trapdoor, just big enough to squeeze down, covered by a flimsy piece of wood. I shoved it away to reveal holes in the floorboards, taken away by a pickaxe.

"Looks like these goblins can mine better than we thought," I muttered. My eyes widened with a sudden realisation and I turned to the others. "A diversion . . . that's all those goblins were, a diversion! So that they could cover up the trapdoor and the others could escape, to wherever this tunnel leads!"

"But where?" asked the Guide. "Where could it lead?" I stared down the trapdoor.

"Let's find out." I said, lowering myself down into the tunnel.

The tunnel was certainly long . . . it went on for what seemed like miles from where I was standing, held up by wooden supports. Almost all of the walls had been carved out of stone, some were holes covered up with the excess.

I struck a match and lit our torches, begging our descent into the darkness.

**X X X**

**An Interlude**

My mother clutched me as tight as she did Amethyst as we waited for something to happen. Well, I waited for something to happen. Mum was more likely praying for something not to happen.

I had entertained myself over the past few minutes by chanting the words 'goblins, hurry up and do something' in my head, but so far it hadn't worked. It was so boring. I didn't even have a non-cult book to read . . .

I turned around (no mean feat considering how tight my mum was holding on to me) and saw the mages of the village performing some kind of spell. There was the mayor, Abigail, and a couple of others that I recognised by face but not by name, all sitting in a circle with candles lit around them. They chanted in a strange tongue, and I raised my eyebrows as a glossy sheen began spreading across the church door.

I recognised a couple of the words – there were 'goblins' of course, and 'lock', so it was easy enough to assume that they were doing something-or-other to keep the goblins out. Good on them . . . I watched the sheen spread almost all the way across the door, before the mages abruptly stopped and stood up, Abigail yawning tiredly. I smiled. I'd seen her around the village many times before, and I liked her. It was pretty awesome that she was the youngest mage in the village, at only 20 (or something like that. I'm not sure. Maybe only 19, maybe even 18, but perhaps even 23) and I liked her. She noticed my gaze on her and I blinked and turned around immediately, but she shot me a smile and a wink. I blushed and smiled back.

Why weren't they finishing the spell? Perhaps it kept not only goblins but people out, so they wanted to wait until they were under attack. Whatever their reasons, I would have felt somewhat safer (and perhaps wouldn't be suffocating quite so rapidly) if they had kept the goblins out.

I sighed and turned to my sister, my only source of constant entertainment. She was asleep again, but that didn't make her any less cute. I squinted at her and looked closely. She looked like Felix. Of course she did. She had his eyes and his mouth, but if I didn't know better I'd say that she had my nose. But where did I get my nose from? It wasn't the same as my mum's . . . maybe it was gran's.

I had never met any of my grandparents – they had all died before I was born. Mum's mother died when she was still just a child, only about seven or eight. Perhaps younger . . . mum didn't talk about her all that often. And of course, mum's dad had died not long after she married my father. Not sure what of . . . corruption, probably. Not sure about my father's parents or Felix's . . . I'm fairly sure they're all dead, anyway.

My thoughts were interrupted when I found my mother's eyes focused on me. I blinked.

"What is it?" I asked. She took a deep breath . . . never a good sign.

"Listen, Sarita . . . I don't think you should be spending so much time with Zelda68. Or that dryad, or . . . what's his name? That Guide?"

"The Guide." I said simply, frowning at her. "But why? They're good people, and they've saved our lives more than once already."

"I know that, but . . . you're seeing them practically every day. It's not healthy, and it's raising more than a few eyebrows."

"I know. I've noticed. But does our social status matter all that much?"

"In this case it does, because we've never had one, and it's been in negatives since Amethyst was born. And even before then, when your father . . ." Her voice trailed off, leaving me to think.

"They're my friends, mum. I like them. They're nice people. They're the nicest people I know, they're my only friends."

"You have friends at school." She argued easily.

"Name one." I retorted simply. She paused and frowned at me thinking.

". . . Rebecca."

"She went on the path of enlightenment."

"So she didn't come back then?"

"That goes without saying as of a few months ago."

"It really shouldn't . . . what about . . . Amber?"

"Amber? Mum, we've been enemies since I was five."

"But I think that you two should get along. She's a nice enough girl."

"She's a spoiled brat!" I said with a roll of my eyes. My mother paused for a moment, trying to think of another name.

". . . Kilgan's son." She decided after a moment. I stared incredulously at her.

"Kilgan's son? Kilgan's son is five!"

"Doesn't mean you can't be friends."

"Yes, it does." She paused again. I sighed.

"Mum, all of the friends that I had got sent on the path. None of them came back, not ever. That hill is corrupted!"

"The lord would have protected them from the demons." She said without a moment's hesitation.

"So why didn't they come back?"

". . . Well . . . their souls must have deemed unfit to be enlightened."

"So what did God do? Kill them?"

"They must have committed sins."

"They were good people, mum!" I cried. "Don't you see? Are you blind? One by one, every person in this village is falling to the corruption! There used to be about a hundred kids at my school, now there are how many? Less than a class worth! Half the people we knew are gone now! What happened to Cathaline? What happened to Bruce? What happened to father?"

I turned away from my mother, expecting her to smack me. I had never said anything like that before, never truly expressed my feelings. My mother was a believer, a devout one . . . what would she do when she found out her daughter was an atheist?

But then she did something that she didn't expect. She wrapped her arms tightly around me in silence, and we sat there for a few minutes. Neither of us said anything. What was going through her head? There was no way of telling.

I never should have considered her hating me for speaking my mind . . . I was her daughter.

She loved me . . .

However, our moment was interrupted when Kilgan and Robert burst in through the door, boasting more than a couple of cuts and bruises.

"Into the basement!" the mayor shouted. "Everybody stay calm and get into the basement!"

The goblins were here.

Everyone panicked despite the mayor's instructions and flooded into the basement, through a small door at the back of the church, behind the chest that had once hidden the 'messages from god.' I cast a glance behind me to see Abigail and another mage walk up to the door and chant the last few lines of the spell, the glossy sheen now holding the door in place.

But something told me that it wouldn't hold for long . . . the goblins had mages, I knew that much from the mayor's carvings.

Once the mages were in the basement we closed the door, the mayor ordering everyone to stay as quiet as possible. Amethyst began to cry, and my mother did all she could to calm her. I clung tightly to my mother.

The prospect of goblins attacking the church had once seemed exciting, but now . . . Zelda68 was supposed to be here, protecting us. I didn't want to admit it, but our swordsmen didn't stand much of a chance.

For the next half hour we sat in silence, the only sound ragged breathing and the odd cry of fear. It was then that the goblins began banging on the door. Loudly. The goblins were trying to get in.

But then, suddenly, it stopped. Why? It made no sense. They had no doubt broken through the door's shield, so why didn't they come in?

I heard something. Nobody else noticed, their eyes were all focused on the door of the basement. But I saw a flicker of movement and a tiny sound, a scraping noise almost too small to hear. I watched as a tile on the floor began to shift, as if being pushed upwards from beneath.

I let out a cry of horror as a goblin emerged, a double-bladed axe at the ready.


	28. Contemplation on the Battlefield

The Guide let out a sigh as we turned right at the end of the tunnel and were greeted with yet another.

"How many of these are there?" He asked.

"Be patient, Guide." I advised him. "The village is at stake here."

"Exactly, so maybe we should run. Get these things over with sooner."

"We ran before, and all it did was make us exhausted. A huge group of goblins wouldn't be able to move that fast, especially not in narrow tunnels like this."

"I guess." he mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. Usually he would be the ones saying those things to me.

Felix remained quiet, lagging slightly behind us. Worried about his friends and family, no doubt. I was worried about them too, but there was no way that we could be any more helpful to them than we are now, in following the goblins.

"Can't you put on your hermes boots?" whinged the Guide. I frowned at him.

"I've only got two pairs. I'm not leaving any of you behind. Why so impatient anyway? That's usually me."

"I just find it a bit annoying that on my first day fighting by your side not just as a Guide but as an equal we somehow end up chasing goblins through caves. It's been ages."

"No, it hasn't been more than ten minutes. And it really is freaky how much you're sounding like me."

". . . Yes actually, it is. I think I'll stop talking now."

"Thanks."

We took another turn and found yet another tunnel, except this one had something different at the end of it. Instead of a wall of dirt or stone, there was an entrance to what looked like a man-made cavern, perhaps some kind of resting place. I took out my sword and the others followed suit, walking slowly into the cavern.

No goblins to be seen . . . or at least, at first glance. There was one. I sheathed my sword and walked towards the solitary goblin with a frown. He was bound and gagged and, oddly enough for a goblin, was wearing glasses. And, even more odd for a goblin, was wearing a shirt and tie, along with a baggy pair of jeans. Stolen from humans, no doubt.

I crouched beside the goblin, the Guide and Felix close behind me, and I took the gag off his mouth but didn't dare unbind him.

"Don't kill me!" he squeaked pathetically. "I'm on your side!"

"But you're a goblin." I answered with a raised eyebrow. He glared at me.

"And that's racist! Why'd you think they bound me up and left me here? They've been irritable about my little habit ever since I made it public."

"Your 'little habit?'" asked the Guide, crossing his arms.

"My fascination with humans." He said with a glare. "You are certainly interesting creatures. Your religious beliefs are a little obscene, but you're all right generally."

"How did this start?" I asked curiously.

"I was born with bad eyes. Normally the other goblins would've left me to the zombies, but a thief happened to find me a pair of glasses and then that was that."

"Well, good for you." I said, standing up. "But we're kinda in a hurry, so if you'll excuse us . . ."

"Don't leave me here!" he screeched, the sound of his voice making me cringe. "I'll die if you do!"

"You're a goblin, you have a knack of surviving. And we're also on our way to kill a whole lot of goblins, so you probably wouldn't like it if we let you go and then you ended up being the only goblin left in the village. Goodbye." I began to walk away, Felix soon after me, but the Guide remained by the side of the goblin. "Guide?" I asked. He turned to me with a frown.

"We can't just leave him here."

"Y-yes, you can't!" agreed the goblin.

"And why not?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Somewhere in these tunnels are a whole mob of goblins on their way to kill a whole bunch of people, so why should we help a runt who got left behind?"

"I'm not a runt!" the goblin shouted furiously, struggling against his bonds. "Like I told you, the only reason I'm here is because I object to the way that the others act! I'm on your side, you can't leave me to die!"

"He's right." Agreed the Guide. "He's on our side, if we let him die it'll be counterproductive."

"Yes! What he just said!" agreed the goblin, nodding fervently.

"Guide, he's a goblin! He might have an interest in humans, but for all we know he could be a spy!"

"And how exactly am I supposed to report back to them if you're about to rip them to shreds?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Don't forget, I could be useful!"

"How?" I asked. "I know that we could throw you at an Eater of Souls and shout 'Eat him not me!' and then run hell-for-leather back to the village, but how could you be useful in this situation?"

"I'm not just any goblin," he explained. "And I'm not just a goblin with a human obsession either. You see, I decided to put the skills that I had earned from my observation of humans to the test and turn them into a new occupation."

"A new occupation?" the Guide asked. "I thought there were only archers, thieves, peons and warriors in a goblin army."

"Yes yes, but I'm not a part of the army."

"All goblins are part of the army." I countered easily. "The race is an army in of itself."

"Well, my deciding to try and create an occupation outside of it was one of the reasons they left me here."

"_One_ of the reasons? You said they chucked you out just because you like people. How many reasons are there?"

"That's not important right now. But the thing is, I'm a tinkerer."

"A tinkerer?"

". . . Yes."

"And what exactly does that mean? Guide?"

"It's not in the dictionary." Said the Guide with a frown. "Or at least not any dictionary I've ever read."

"It basically means inventor." The goblin explained with a sigh. "And a couple of my gadgets might help you out later on."

"How else?" I asked, unimpressed. The goblin blinked.

"Um . . ." he managed, them grinned. "Actually, I know the goblin's plan. That might help you out." I stared at him.

"Why didn't you say so? Tell us!"

"Not until you untie me!" he replied stubbornly. I sighed and walked over to him, drawing a knife and cutting through the ropes binding him. "Thank you." He replied, standing up. "Okay. Right now we'd be underneath . . . your chief's house."

"You mean the mayor." I corrected him. He gasped.

"Is that what you call him? I never knew that! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"Just tell us where the goblins are going!" I said, sheathing my dagger with a scowl.

"Oh – right. Sorry. They're headed for the church."

"What?" I asked, shocked.

"These tunnels lead right underneath it, and come up in the basement."

"But that's where the people are hiding!" I cried. The goblin's eyes widened.

"Then I suggest you hurry up!" he exclaimed. "And take me with you too. I promise, I can help you!"

"Fine." I said with a grimace. I leant down towards the goblin until we were seeing eye-to-eye. "But if your buddies lay even a single scratch on any of my friends, you're the one paying for it." The goblin swallowed and nodded. "Good. Now let's get going."

Without another word we left, the goblin hobbling behind, no doubt riddled with pins and needles. I sped up, if anything to annoy the goblin. While he could be of help, it'd no doubt take me ages to get used to his being around. Felix caught up with me and took a deep breath.

"I don't like this." He said quietly. I turned to him with understanding.

"Neither do I, but it's happening and there's no stopping it now." I said. "Who knows what might happen . . . he might even come in handy. And if he does . . ." I looked back at the goblin, leaning against the Guide for support. "Then I'm not going to let anyone kill him."

"Zelda68, he's a goblin. And for all we know, our friends could be fighting off his big brothers right now. He's an enemy." I frowned at Felix.

"You're being terribly racist right now." I said flatly. Felix gave a small smile and we continued.

I understood his discomfort. I shared it . . . but that goblin wasn't like the others. He had dared to speak up, and because of that he had become an outcast. And when we had come across him he hadn't snarled and shouted like any other goblin, he had begged for help. I looked back at him and smiled.

Besides, he reminded me of the Guide.

"This is . . . taking . . . forever." The goblin complained. I frowned, a thought occurring to me.

"What's your name?" I asked him. He paused.

"My name? I've already told you. I'm the Goblin Tinkerer." I smiled.

He definitely reminded me of the Guide.

"Who's Goblin Tinkerer?" I asked. He frowned.

"Well, as you humans would say, the Hero's. As well as you, Guide, I suppose. But I don't think there really is a Hero."

"You'd be surprised." I said with a smirk. The Goblin Tinkerer blinked, but then reached into his pouch and drew out what looked like a pair of shoes with metal wings on them.

"Rocket Boots." He explained, drawing out three more pairs. "They'll help us get there a lot quicker."

"Thanks," I said, reaching for a pair. He held out a hand to stop me.

"Five gold each." I started at him.

Okay . . . now he reminded me of the Arms Dealer.

And that is never a good thing.

"Look, we need them now. I'll pay later." He stared at me for a moment.

". . . You say your friends are in danger, yes?" he asked. I nodded fervently. "Well . . . just this once. But you have to pay later, okay?" I nodded and grabbed a pair, strapping them on.

I had seen these before. I had found a pair of them tied to the waist of a goblin warrior who likely had no idea of their value. In the end, I had chucked them into lava out of frustration and need of more space in my pouch. They were rubbish, really. You couldn't fly any higher than three metres, and when you did they would short out and you would fall back to earth.

But in this case, that didn't matter.

I clicked my heels and the rocket boots sprang to life, and I gave a small start and leaned forwards as the rockets began to work. I was propelled forward, almost faster than my eyes could keep up with, and the Guide and Felix soon followed suit. And then I thought, certainly not for the first and definitely not for the last time:

_Time to make like a hero._

**X X X**

**An Interlude**

I let out a cry of horror as the goblin emerged, a double-bladed axe at the ready.

Heads turned at the noise and the people began to back away, swordsmen emerging from the crowd. I was close to the first goblin, but he was distracted by the swordsmen and I managed to scramble away.

Soon more appeared, flooding out of the loose tile like a waterfall. By the time there were no more than ten of them everyone had backed behind the swordsmen and my mother clutched me and my sister tightly.

What followed wasn't so much a battle as unorganised chaos in such a small space – goblins falling all over the place, but swordsmen being knocked against walls and losing consciousness at an almost equal pace. Soon only a few men remained standing, and at that more goblins began to flow in.

Someone managed to open the door leading into the church, but half of the people were on the wrong side of the fight, including me. Leaf was lucky enough to get out, but only just.

I watched in horror as a goblin bigger and fouler than the others emerged, holding a ridiculously oversized spiked club. He sent Robert and Kilgan flying against the wall with ease, and then turned to all of the people, huddled in a corner, with a sadistic grin on its face. I gestured at us, and with that the other goblins began to advance, maddeningly slowly, towards all of the people who couldn't defend themselves . . .

It wasn't fair . . .

I closed my eyes and waited to die . . .

But then hope once again blossomed in my chest as I saw a bright light behind my closed eyelids. I opened them to see Abigail and another mage firing magic shots at the goblins. Some looked like balls of fire and others neon bullets, but they took out at least five goblins before they were forced to stop.

Like I had observed from the mayor, magic is exhausting . . .

The goblins began advancing again, faster this time, and I watched as a sickly green goblin raised its dagger above my mother's head, aiming for all three of us at once . . .

And then I saw something that I certainly had not expected.

Zelda68 emerged from the opening, sword at the ready and throwing knives and shurikens throwing themselves from her hands. She sliced through the goblin in front of me, throwing me a grin and offering us a hand up.

"Everybody into the church!" she shouted as the Guide emerged from the hole behind her, firing bullets at all of the goblins, and then Felix, one of Zelda68's swords at the ready.

Breathless, speechless and running on adrenaline I jumped up, my mother close behind, and leapt towards the door. Zelda68 took up a goblin going to intercept the group and slashed him across the neck, the force of her blow sending him tumbling backwards for his last breath. As my mother passed her she stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and gave her a yellowed piece of paper with a blood covered hand, rolled neatly into a cylinder, and raised her eyebrows.

"Don't ask me what it is," she said between breaths. "I found it. I think it's for you." Without another word the Hero ran back into the fray, goblins still pouring from the loose tile, and screamed a battle cry.

We ran through the exit and into the church, gathering around the wooden benches. Every time a goblin came for us Zelda68's sword would somehow find a way into its stomach.

I sat down, suddenly tired, and found my head heavy. I felt dizzy, spots danced in front of my eyes, and suddenly the wood of the bench came rushing up to meet me as the events of the last few hours all came crashing down on me.

I blacked out.

**X X X**

I clicked my heels and flew over the head of the goblin, doing a somersault in the air, and letting my blade embed itself in the goblin's head. When I landed I tossed the corpse off my sword, pulling a couple of muscles in my neck in the process.

Goblins, goblins, goblins . . . More and more of them . . .

Just how many goblins are there?

They just keep pouring and pouring out of that hole . . . they had been hiding in the school all right, but I hadn't bet on them having a secret system of tunnels to hide in whenever they wanted to.

This isn't just a mob . . . this is an army.

I saw a flash of red in the crowd of blue, green and brown and darted through the goblins to find Felix, going up against three fully-armoured warriors at once. Just as his sword found a gap in one of their rusty armour another raised its club skyward. I tried to move over to help him but found the knife of a thief pressed against my throat. I didn't dare move.

Felix raised his shield to block the blow a fraction of a second too late – the shield only blocked half of the blow and the rest of it sent him stumbling back up against a wall. My eyes widened and I desperately struggled against the grip of the goblin, but he pressed his knife tighter against my throat and I felt beads of blood break through the skin.

Ignoring the pain I reached for a dagger on my waist, stabbing it into the goblin's waist before he could kill me. I pulled the arm of the frozen goblin from around my neck, letting him fall to the floor, then launching myself at the two goblin warriors.

I couldn't kill them before they clobbered him, not both of them.

I couldn't break through them and get to him without being clobbered myself, which I wouldn't mind if it weren't for the fact that I was in a room full of goblins with the population of the village on the other side of the door.

Thinking on my feet, I unbuckled a dagger from my belt and tossed it above the goblin's heads and to Felix, who snatched it out of the air with the hand that had not been holding the shield. One of them whirled around and the other turned his head to look at me, and Felix took the opportunity to stab the one with its club still raised in the leg. It screamed in pain and collapsed just as the second warrior punched me in the stomach unexpectedly, sending me tumbling backwards and over until I lay on the floor, surrounded by goblins, who all took the opportunity to kick at me with their tough feet.

I lay, breathless, with the blows pounding down on my barely conscious form, my friends powerless to help. I couldn't stand, let alone defend myself. I must've been there for thirty seconds of pain before a hailstorm of bullets ripped over my head, sending the goblins down in a heap. The Guide emerged, the Minishark handy, offering me a hand up. I tried to take it, but when I did my chest ached and stang beyond belief, driving what air was left in my lungs out of me.

"You okay?" The Guide asked in concern.

"I'm fine." I lied, standing up despite my chest's complaints. "Just a couple of bruised ribs. You should be watching your own back." With that I launched back into the ever widening fray, whirling my sword around at goblins left right and centre.

To be honest, I hated the power to end a life every time I turned around. And I hated even more the fact that I had no choice. These goblins were different from the ones back home, that much was obvious, and I had pitied even the ones from Terraria. These things were so close to human it scared me, and here I was killing all of those unfortunate enough to get in my path.

I wish there was another way . . .

But then again, the lives of all of my friends are at stake here. What am I doing thinking about peace? The goblins are the enemy. I had to kill them if I wanted to protect the village . . .

I almost stopped when I realised what I had just been thinking. I was justifying this simply because the goblins were goblins and goblins are monsters . . .

But isn't it so easy to think that of anything in war?

Isn't it so easy to forget that the lives you're ending are full?

Isn't that what they're thinking of me right now?

I caught a glimpse of Felix in the crowd. His red hair was mad, he was covered with cuts and bruises, his emerald eyes were fierce and his skin was stained with blood. He had no choice but to fight, his family was in danger and his life was at stake.

I, however, did.

I did my best to avoid having to kill the goblins around me as they tried to kill me, catching a glance of the Guide as he shot at the goblins moving to intercept him. He did have a choice. More than I did. And I could've sworn that his beautiful brown eyes were swimming with tears.

What was I asking him to do? Kill innocent creatures with a weapon ten times more powerful than anything that they wielded?

And what was I doing? I, the girl who had killed so many of them in the past, adding to the death count? Adding to the fear and anger of the creatures that I was so willingly fighting?

There had to be another way!

And then I saw something else, and realisation dawned upon me.

There was.

I caught a glimpse of the biggest of the goblins, the one I took to be their leader, and realised something in a matter of seconds.

The biggest of the goblins. Their leader. Their chief. It all made sense . . .

That goblin's only advantage over the others was the luck of superior size and strength, and because of these advantages which the others did not share he appointed himself leader. That much was obvious. But then that meant that the other goblins had no choice but to follow him, whether they wanted to or not.

He was a dictator.

But that lead to a more serious question.

Did these goblins even want to fight me?

When I looked into their eyes before I saw only rage and hate, but when I looked into them now I saw something else entirely. Ducking under the swing of a peon, I looked, with eyes unclouded by unfair judgement, into his eyes.

There was anger there. And hate, and bloodlust. But there was something else.

Fear.

It was afraid that I was going to do to it what I had done to its friends. That was why it was swinging at me. That was why all of them were attacking us.

They had no choice, and they were scared of us.

And the anger that I saw there was not to me. That anger was to something else entirely. To the circumstances.

How could I have been so blind before? Why had the goblins come here in the first place?

They had no home left.

Their homes had been taken by the corruption long ago. They had been forced to run here, the one place they could hide, and pray for a hero just as the mayor had.

They had been forced to give up their homes, their families, their very way of life. That was why they were steadily becoming more human – they had lost their heritage. They had been hiding here for too long.

They had been a band of survivors, forced into the hills, and they had come to a place that they had once avoided at all costs.

I couldn't kill all that was left of a dying race. They were like Leaf. Dying, their homes being destroyed . . . but I could help them just as I did him.

Their leader was the only reason they were fighting.

I set my face into a glare and pursued the chief, dodging blades and fists at every turn. My eyes widened as I realised where the big ugly was headed – the door to the basement. He was going to leave his army defenceless, and then go and kill the humans.

The only survival he cared about was his own, and the only deaths he cared about were that of my friends. That of the people that it was my duty to protect.

I bolted through the mass of bodies, dodging swords, knives and axes, I tried to keep the big one in sight. I ran as fast as I could once I had cleared the most of the fighting, and had to fight the urge to let out a cry of horror as the goblin raised its oversized club, taking aim at the closed door. I knew that on the other side of that door there were living, breathing people trying to hold the goblins back.

"Get away from the door!" I cried, praying that they would hear me. The chief's club smashed into the weak door, sending splinters flying everywhere.

I leapt up the small set of stairs and launched myself at the goblin, screaming a battle cry that rattled in my aching chest. He whirled around and held the club horizontally, my blow doing little more than scratching the club. I scowled and came to my feet, the goblin's attention on me.

I had to stop this.

"LISTEN TO ME!" I shouted as the goblin whirled around again, intent on continuing his foul plan. "I know that you have every reason to walk through that door and kill everyone you see, and I know you have every intention of squashing me like a fly, which I am sure you are more than capable of doing, but I am asking you to stop for a moment and listen!" A cruel grin twisted the brute's face.

"And why should I listen to you?" he asked.

"Because I understand a thing or two about your kind, and I understand that this situation is a poor one. I also know that I have killed at least three dozen goblins after entering this room, and that you have every right to avenge them, but I also know that their deaths do not concern you."

"Don't they?" he asked, sounding bored already. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because right now my friends are massacring them, and also right now you are about to go through that door and leave them in here." The noise of fighting lessened somewhat behind me, the bursts of the Guide's gun becoming fewer and further between as the goblins themselves decided to listen to whatever it is I had to say . . . because they knew that I was right, and they were realising what their leader had been about to do.

The chief winced slightly. He had been found out.

"The only survival you care about is your own, and the only deaths you care about are those of the people I have sworn to protect."

"Who are you to protect them? You're just a girl! Don't listen to her, you fools!"

"Fools? Is that what they are?"

"They will do as I tell them so you might as well shut up!" he snarled. "They are _my_ army, they will follow _me_!" I took a threatening step forwards.

"The only thing that makes you better than them is that you just happen to be as big as you are uncaring, and as strong as you are selfish!"

The fighting behind us had all but stopped, as all of the ears of the crowd turned to the argument.

"Look around you." I advised, gesturing towards the piles of dead goblins and unconscious swordsmen alike. "This is all you have given them. This . . . These meaningless deaths was the only release you allowed them to have. You never even considered that they might have valued their survival over the deaths of _your_ enemies! The corruption drove you from your homes but you managed to survive, and now you plan to let them die like this? Nameless, meaningless, soulless corpses littering the battlefield that you have managed to make out of a _church_?"

Without warning, the goblin swung his club wide, and I had to do a backflip to avoid it, landing on my knees.

"Won't you let them hear the truth?" I asked as he swung again, taking large steps back where I knew that there were goblins waiting for me. "Would you rather kill me than let them die, I ask you?" I jumped backwards as his club smashed into the ground, not bothering to draw my sword.

"LIAR!" he roared. "DON'T LISTEN TO HER! YOU WORK FOR ME, HER WORDS DO NOT MATTER! KILL HER!"

"If it's a fight you want then it's a fight you'll get." I said, my hand clasping the hilt of my sword. "But you'd better think about who it is you're fighting."

"What?" he demanded, swinging at me again. "Would it be hard for me to kill a girl?"

"Morally speaking, it should be." I replied easily, backing through the parting crowd. "But then again, so should letting your people die."

"I WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE AN INSECT!" he screeched, swinging faster and harder.

"It can be harder to squash a mosquito than one would think. Believe me, I know." I ducked and jumped, resisting the urge to send a dagger flying at him and end the fight. I was winning the goblins over, otherwise they would've interfered. "But, of course, I'm not an insect, and I have been in a fair few fights over the years but no one has managed to crush me yet, and that's saying something given that you're nowhere near as powerful as some of the things I've killed."

"YOU'RE – JUST – A GIRL!" he screamed between swings. I glared at him and, when his club hit the wall, I did a flying leap into the air, drawing my sword in the process, and slashed at it, putting all my strength behind the blow. The club fell to the ground, in pieces.

The chief stared at the piece of hard wood in his hand, as if he could not believe it. I landed on the ground, sword at the ready, and stood up to face him.

"But . . . you're just a girl . . ." he whispered, losing some of the colour in his face.

I glared at the goblin, using the rocket boots to propel myself into the air, and doing a somersault, landing on the goblin's shoulders with my sword across his thick neck.

"Look again." I snarled. "And listen this time, because I don't want to hurt you." The goblin tried to throw me off his neck by thrusting backwards, but I tightened my grip on his shoulders and kept the blade no more than a millimetre from his fat neck. "I'd be careful. I really am trying my best not to cut you by accident, but that's hard to do when you're thrashing all over the place." He stopped moving. "Thank you. So now can we have a discussion without you trying to kill me every few seconds?"

". . . Yes." He agreed reluctantly.

"Good." I said with a nod. "I would remove my sword, but I'm afraid that you'd take the opportunity to try and kill me, and I assure you that such a violent act would be counterproductive to your cause. Do you understand?" He gave a small nod. "Good. And you understand what all the big words I just used meant?" He hesitated, giving me a small scowl, but nodded again. "Good boy. Okay . . . what I am going to do now is that I am going to hop down from this rather uncomfortable position, and I am going to stand in front of you. Which means that my sword will no longer be against your neck. But I assure you, if you try and attack me, then something bad will happen, and all I want is the best for you."

"Really?" He asked dryly. "You want the best for me, and yet you threaten me?"

"It's not a threat, it's a guarantee. And it's self-defence."

"Self-defence against someone with your sword pointed at their throat?" he asked bitterly.

"Self-defence against someone who was madly swinging at me a few seconds ago and who I'm not sure if intelligent enough to know when he's been beat." The goblin grumbled something impolite and I frowned at him. "Do you want me to get down from here or not?" I asked. The goblin held my gaze for a few seconds but then sagged in defeat, giving a small nod. "Okay. Good. Now prove to me that you really are intelligent and let us have a civilized conversation."

_I sound like the Guide . . ._ I couldn't help but think to myself. _But then again, in a situation like this, maybe that's a good thing._ When stepping down from the huge goblin's neck, I couldn't help but feel guilty for the sorry state of my comrades.

The Guide was in a good condition, all things considered, but I could tell that he wasn't inside. Goblin blood and gore was splattered almost carelessly over his usually scrupulously clean form, and even his spiky hair seemed to have lost its shape. There was barely a scratch on him, maybe a cut or two, but there was no real damage. But I knew, if not from the sorry look in his eyes then by the guns held limply by his side, as if he trusted the goblins not to attack him again (or more likely didn't want them to for their sake) that all the deaths he had caused were weighing heavily on his conscience.

Felix was the worst off, save the goblin corpses scattered around us and a couple of his limp friends outside of the fray. There were bruises and cuts all over his body, and a particularly deep gash across his sword arm, but the he still clutched the blade stubbornly. I should have taught him how to use his other arm . . . poor man. The same trust that the Guide felt was not present in his paranoid glances around the goblins around him, and what could've been a fighting stance shaping his form. He couldn't feel the same way as the Guide, the Night's Edge wasn't as powerful as the Minishark. He felt the need to fight, to live. To survive this battle. To protect his family . . .

To be a Hero.

To do what I had insisted he was capable of.

I shot the two of them a look with all of my trust and hope in it, almost a plea not to interfere, and although Felix frowned the two of them seemed to understand.

I landed on the ground in front of the chief and took a few steps back, sheathing my sword in the process. The goblin twitched, as if resisting the urge to try and smash me to pieces, but took a breath when he remembered that I had broken his club. I had no such urge, despite the fact that one of my many daggers would send him crashing to the ground. He didn't have to die, and neither did his people. If this worked, I wouldn't have to kill any of them.

My plans seldom work, but . . . this would be a good day for one of them to.

And it would be about time as well.

I resisted the urge to smirk and cleared my throat, the goblin rolling his eyes in irritation.

"I know where you're coming from," I said clearly. "All of you." I cast a glance around the crowd. "You need to survive. At any cost. Your lives depend on it, that's why you're fighting. I understand. I've been there . . . in fact I _was_ there a few seconds ago. Except I wasn't fighting for my own survival, and neither were you. I was fighting for my friends, and that's what you were doing as well. You don't want the people you care about to get hurt, and you'd rather not get killed yourself either. You're only doing this because you have to, and because your lives seem to be at stake . . . but I'm here to tell you that they don't have to be."

"Zelda68," The Guide hissed. "What are you doing?"

"The right thing." I answered simply. He gave me a small frown, probably begging that I didn't screw this up.

He's not the only one.

"You look at us as enemies just because we are human, just as we looked at you because you are goblin. It is almost traditional for us to look at each-other like that, because while we might call each-other recluses we have fought, and we were evenly matched. Most of the time it was just luck who won, and before any of you argue that consider just how similar we're becoming, and I know why. You were forced here by the same thing that keeps us here, and the same thing that brought me here." I put a scowl on my face at the thought.

The corruption took everything here. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair . . . and I had to stop it.

"We're all here today because of the corruption." The goblins cried out and raised their weapons at the mention of the hated word. "We're all here today because it drove you from your homes. You were a group of survivors, and you managed to make it here, and it was here that you began losing your sense of who you were. And, if you don't mind me saying so . . . you started evolving." The chief goblin snarled, breaking his silence.

"Evolving?" he asked with a glare. "Becoming more human? De-evolving, more like!" The goblins of the crowd gave cheers in agreement, and the Guide and Felix took a step towards me as I cast a glance at them.

"Okay, not evolving," I said hastily. "Adapting. Happy? I meant no offence. You can see what I mean, can't you?"

"No," the main goblin said with what was almost a sadistic grin. "We are the same people we've always been. You know nothing." His lips twisted into a sneer. "See what I mean?" He asked the others, glancing around at them. "She knows nothing!"

"I know more than you might think," I said with a glare. "And if you'd just think for a moment you'd realise what I have." The goblins did not stop in their cheering against me. "Listen!" No response. "Explain this then." A few of the smarter goblins began to stop and turn their heads to me. "The weapons you use have been human-inspired. Those double-bladed axes of yours are hardly traditional. I've seen a few of you in clothing and armour stolen from humans. I know that you're living off humans, but I also like to think that you guys are decent enough to take them at an age which means that they had a word in before you killed them." A pointed an accusing finger at the lead goblin. "Or rather, you did. And I normally don't mind people being big on tradition, especially not in this case, but to be honest I think its savage coming from people who claim to be civilised. And before you start a riot, keep listening, because I find the battlefield to be an excellent place to contemplate."

"Apparently," murmured the Guide, and I grinned at him. The grin turned into a meek smile when I saw the look on Felix's face. He was far from grinning. He looked worried, and angry, and scared . . . but almost trusting.

. . . As always.

"You know nothing," the goblin hissed again, and the smile turned into a smirk.

"Do I really?" I asked. "Okay . . . what about you? Yes, you, he big ugly one who left his comrades to die. You, the big guy with the big words who considers himself the most powerful 'cause you're the strongest, which is just luck." The Guide stepped up behind me and put his mouth by my ear in a voice meant for me and me alone.

"You started killing all of them in your line of sight," the Guide pointed out in a hiss. "And then you got yourself beat up, and then suddenly went out with an impassioned speech – or at least the most impassioned speech I've heard coming from you, and now you're basically _insulting_ them. You'd better have a plan, or I might as well shoot myself now and get it over with. And I'd shoot you at the same time because you'd be the one who got us into this mess. And I might as well shoot all of the people in the church while I'm at it because they're all at stake here, so stop fooling around and be serious! Either you fight them and we fight with you, or you go ahead with something and save us, alright?"

"I have a plan!" I hissed back at the Guide. "Of course I do!" Before the chief could interrupt, I pointed a finger at him and said, "And it doesn't involve the chopping off of goblin heads, before you suggest it. I am very much against the chopping off of heads right now."

"Said the girl who had her blade against my throat." He remarked sarcastically, and I grinned.

He reminded me of me.

"I also said _right now_." I remind him. "And I never did finish my whole you-becoming-more-human speech, did I? Sorry, I got carried away with all the you-eating-people stuff." I cleared my throat and the goblin scowled at me. "You wear human clothes. You use human weapons. You live in a human village – though admittedly not by choice. You eat . . . well, humans, but I'd be willing to bet that when you can't get your hands on them you'd go for human food as well. And here's the thing." I said with a pause. "Here's the clincher. Here's the thing that has been bugging me ever since I realised about it."

"JUST SAY IT!" The lead goblin shouted, and the others gave cries of agreement. I smiled.

Temperamental, overconfident and sarcastic . . . _just_ like me.

Like a whole race of "me"s . . .

Like a whole race of heroes . . .

And to think of the amount of trouble that I alone caused . . .

"You speak our language." At that, the room fell silent. "You speak Human, or whatever you might call it. But I bet you don't call it anything, do you? It's just how you speak. It's been years since you spoke anything else." Still silence. I turned to the head goblin. "You see my point now, don't you?" He remained silent, but the corner of his lip twitched and I could see fury in his eyes. I could guess that the only reason he wasn't shouting at me now was because he couldn't do it without proving my point. "I don't blame you. I don't blame any of you. For anything that you've lost, or anything that you gained. Advantages and disadvantages, depending on the way you look at them. Well, then again . . . maybe I blame you for one thing." I loosened my sword in its sheath. "I blame you for attacking the church. I blame you for trying to kill innocent people. I blame you for trying to kill my friends, and I blame you for knocking out those swordsmen and trying to kill those children. Not for being the way that you are, but for doing what you did. You tried to slaughter innocent people in their place of worship." I turned to the chief, steel in my gaze and in my voice. "Or did you? Did you do it yourself, or did someone else make that decision for you?"

The goblin scowled at me, teeth bared, but said nothing. I returned the glare tenfold then turned to the crowd, approaching a thief. He frowned at me but did not take out his dagger.

"What did he tell you?" I asked, and the thief blinked. "You heard me. Why did you attack this place?"

"M – me?" he stammered, no doubt not used to having an opinion of his own.  
>"Well . . . 'e said . . . tha' 'vey were attackin' the school. V'hat da humans had sent an army. Tha' we 'ad to attack 'vem, and that 've tunnels gave us da best advant'ge. He . . . he also said . . . 'vat v'ere was a chest full o' gold 'ere, and va' we 'fieves could have it all if we ran all the 've way 'ere."<p>

"Master of exaggeration, aren't you?" I asked, whirling around to face the chief. "The mayor sent me, and him," I waved in the direction of the Guide, "and Felix came of his own accord. And do you know why he came? To protect his family. From you."

"What about 've chest o' gold?" demanded another of the thieves. I raised my eyebrows at him in a sorry expression.

"Well, there is a chest here, but it's not a chest of gold, it's a gold chest. And it's empty." I unconsciously tightened my belt, thinking of all the weapons attached to it. "As of now, anyway." Multiple scowls and breaths through clenched teeth rose up in the crowd, and I cast a worried glance around.

"You said vat v'ere was gold!" Was one of the many things that the thieves shouted in fury, and among the most polite.

"OI!" I shouted, and the noise died down. "While I appreciate with your perspectives, I'd like it if you'd listen." The noise didn't fade completely.

"They won't listen to you!" snarled the chief. "They only obey ME!"

Almost immediately, all of the noise subsided.

The big brute seemed to lose some of the colour in his sickly green face.

"They followed you because you gave them no chance." I said, almost pitifully. "And they didn't complain. They put up with you, and not because they had no choice. They have a choice now, and they're not submitting. No, they put up with you because they thought you were a half-decent leader and they didn't want to get on your nerves. They also believed that you would make sure no harm came to them. They could've stood against you if they wanted to, but they needed a unifying force. Which, in this case, was me."

"YOU ARE NOTH –"

"I am something, and I'm not finished, so you should listen. Do you know why they're standing against you? Really? I'll tell you why. Because of today. Because you took them here, right into the nest of your ancient enemy, at the promise of wealth. They put up with you. They trusted you."

The goblin had no weapon to silence me with, so he started towards me with nothing but his bare hands. I glared at him and started backwards at an equal pace.

He didn't remind me of me anymore.

"Do you know what you did with their trust?" I asked as the goblins behind me parted. "You crushed it. You took it and crushed like it was nothing, when in reality it was everything you had." I ducked under a swing from his large fist and kept walking backwards, placing my hand on the hilt of my sword. "And how? Why?" I drew the sword but the goblin didn't hesitate in swinging at me again. I stepped over corpses and unconscious and wounded forms, praying I didn't trip up. "Because you didn't care about them. Never have–" I ducked under his fist and rolled to the side to avoid his next, "–never will. You wanted to leave this room and just leave them to die, just so that you could exact your own revenge on the innocent." He grabbed an axe off a goblin to the side, throwing the owner to the wall as he righted it. I glared at him and readied my sword.

If it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he'll get.

I ducked under the swing of his axe and rolled between his tree-trunk legs, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose at his smell as I did so. He snarled in anger and swung the axe wide with a force that sent him spinning around with his weapon to meet me. I grimaced and jumped over the swing, clicking my heels in mid-air and propelling myself away from him as I did a somersault backwards, landing on my feet.

"To sum that up," I continued. "You tried to go through that door and leave them all to us. You would've killed the villagers, and I would've killed the rest of the goblins, but that wouldn't concern you, would it? You wouldn't care about that, would you? And, you know, I really don't understand _why_." The chief gave an outraged cry and swung at me again, but I ducked out of the way and kept moving backwards. "But then again, coming from a hero, I suppose it's no wonder." The goblin paused for a second, realisation dawning upon his face, but then turned it back down into a scowl.

"You are no hero." He snarled. "Even if that is your destiny, this land is still in peril. One woman could not do anything to save it."

"Woman?" I asked with a grin, still retreating. "Oh, I suppose that's nice. You've stopped calling me girl . . . but no-one's ever called me a woman before." The goblin glared at me and began moving forward faster. I equalled his pace. "Guess I'm just too immature. But in a situation like this, maybe it's good to lighten things up a little. Oh, and by the way, I am a hero. And I'd think after someone turns your army against you, and for good reason I might add, you would consider the possibility and maybe actually stop swinging at them with an axe, just in case it is their destiny to help you out."

"Prove it." He snarled, swinging wide. "If you are our hero, prove it!" I ducked under his swing again easily, using the rocket boots to propel over the second.

Did he have to be so predictable?

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked. "And I'm not _your_ hero. Well, not yet anyway. Let's hope I will be sometime soon. Actually, I'm the Hero of Terraria, a land far away from here. Don't ask me how I got here, I don't know. Oh, and the easiest proof that I'm a hero would probably be the fact that the Guide is standing over there."

"The fact that you have a guide is not proof!" he said, letting the axe embed itself in the wall, knowing I wouldn't take the opportunity.

"Not a guide, the Guide. The Hero's Guide. Just like the Arms Dealer, Demolitionist, Nurse, Dryad and Clothier back home. Who knows, maybe it was even destiny for you to leave the Goblin Tinkerer behind." The goblin blinked at this, and froze in his tracks.

I was right, and he knew it.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked, and he didn't respond. "Well, I will anyway. The way that you answer this question determines what happens to you next, so please answer honestly. I know that goblins and heroes always battle, but I'm here to put an end to that, and I need to determine if the one that appointed himself leader is really up to the task. Okay, so . . . Are you sorry for leaving your people in here to die?" The goblin bowed his head, the scowl returning.

"No." he answered. "I am not. They might have died, but it would have been a necessary sacrifice to rid us of our ancient enemy."

" You still consider humans the enemy," I mused. "But get this into your head. We're in this together. We are both surrounded by the corruption. The lives of both our species are at stake here. We can't afford to fight amongst ourselves at a time like this. We must fight the corruption. Or rather, I must. That's who I am. That's what I do. And I don't want to have to kill innocent people here, alright? So you people can stay here. Retreat into your tunnels. I would let you roam about the village, but I have a feeling that the villagers would be slightly prejudice against you. I will arrange to have food taken down to you, and, once the corruption is gone, then we can send you home. Does that sound fair? Nobody else has to die here."

"And what about me?" asked the leader, his head still bowed and a scowl still upon his face. "Don't I die here? I'm not sorry for what I did, I'm not sorry for leaving my people to die. Any hero who really wanted the goblins to live free of my influence would kill me here and now."

"It's not in my place to make that decision. I can't decide who goes on living and who dies. That's not me, that should be you. So, do you want to die today?"

"No. But it's a little too late for that."

"What? What are you talking about? Do you want me to kill you or not?"

"Easier said than done." He said with a sadistic grin, raising his head. "Not with the gifts that the demon has given me . . ." And with that, black lightning began to crackle around his form, his yellow eyes filled with malice and hatred as he laughed. My eyes widened and I stepped back, along with the rest of the crowd.

Black lightning . . . that seemed so familiar . . .

_I walked down a long brick corridor, clutching the Light's Bane tightly. There had to be something in here . . . why else would it be guarded by something so powerful?_

_ I absent-mindedly took another sip of my healing potion, forcing myself not to dwell on my battle with Skeletron. That thing had almost finished me off, and I had a feeling that I would keep the scars to prove it._

_ But, in the end, what had I fought it for?_

_ I hadn't found anything in this dungeon other than those damn skeletons and the odd floating skull. There was a chest or two, to be sure, but they were all locked._

_ I mean, _locked_ chests?_

_ In a dungeon?_

_ Seriously?_

_ I had also freed that old man from the curse, to be sure, and I sent him back to the Guide, but it would be ages before he fully recovered from, the beating I had been forced to give him. And who was he anyway?_

_ I placed a torch on the wall to light up the dark hallway ahead of me. There was something up ahead, I could feel it._

_ And then I could see it as well._

_ Go figure._

_ A huge skeleton separated itself from the shadows, and I scowled at it and held the Light's Bane tightly._

_ I really hated having to use a sword created through the darkness of the corruption, but it was the most powerful weapon I had. How ironic. If what the Guide said was true, then if I mined down far enough I would find a rather unpleasant place called Hell, and there I would find something rare called hellstone, and using that I could make something called the Fiery Greatsword, which apparently is as awesome as it sounds._

_ But here I am, right now, stuck with the Light's Bane._

_ Ironic, yeah, but not as much as it is annoying._

_ I hesitated for a second when I noticed something. That skeleton wasn't in the tattered clothes of fallen adventurers, it was in a long robe._

_ Oh, and another thing . . ._

_ Black lightning was swirling around it, coalescing into a ball as it raised its hands._

_ Oh. A Dark Caster._

_ Maybe it's a good thing I brought that magic mirror with me . . ._

Focus. Focus! Look! Goblin with demon powers! Evil goblin! Concentrate! Now isn't the time for another of those flashbacks! The present is more than enough to deal with!

"A demon?" Spat a warrior. "The fings what tried to kill us? You bastard!"

"The corruption killed so many of us, and you side with it?"

"All this time you've been on the wrong side!"

"You're a traitor!"

The chief began lifting himself into the air, charging up his lightning like a dark caster.

"Traitor?" the fallen goblin asked. "Can't you see? Do you know how many people we lost to the corruption? We can't win this if we make the corruption our enemy!"

"The corruption already is our enemy!" I snarled back at him. "If you join sides with it you'll have as good as killed yourself! Trust me, the demon won't have any use for you once you've killed your own army!"

"I don't intend to. What I intend to do right now is I intend to shoot this lightning at you. The corruption will win, and the humans will fall, but the goblins can survive. Can't you see that, my fellows? We can't win this fight! If you want to survive, then we have to join with our enemies!"

Dead silence, filled with anger.

"You can see that, can't you?" He asked, his face falling. "I am doing what is the best for us! Our brothers may have fallen to the corruption, but that doesn't mean that we have to!"

"No." I agreed calmly. "It just means that we have to avenge them."

"They are my army!" he hissed, his voice raising. "They will only answer to ME!"

"Sure they will." I said sarcastically, and then turned back to the crowd. "Archers! Take aim!" The former chief's eyes widened as they did just that. "And . . ." I pointed my sword at the goblin. "FIRE!"

The black lightning around the goblin faded as he let out a cry of pent-up fury and pain, his body being pierced by the arrows of his own people. He struck the ground hard, and fell silent.

I resisted the urge to smirk.

I had an army of goblins on my side.

"I suggest you head back into the tunnels – and that's not an order, it's a suggestion, because I'm not your leader. From now on, you make your own decisions." A cry of happiness rose up from the crowd, and they raised their weapons. The Guide and Felix walked over to me, their weapons sheathed. They said nothing. Speechless. "What?" I asked, and the Guide shook his head.

"I'm impressed." He admitted, and I rolled my eyes at him with a grin.

"Finally!" I laughed, chucking Felix a healing potion.

**X X X**

**An Interlude**

I came back into the realm of the living, albeit slowly, and found my head in my mother's lap and a baby with its tiny fingers squeezing at my nose. I frowned, trying to remember exactly how I ended up in this situation, and my eyes widened and I jerked myself upright as one word echoed in my mind:

Goblins.

I rubbed my head as my memories of the rest of the day resurfaced and settled into the correct positions. We were in a church. Goblins were in the basement . . .

And Zelda68 was down there as well.

"Sarita!" My mother cried in relief, helping me into a sitting position on the long bench. "You're awake! I was so worried!" She pulled me into a tight hug, and I struggled against her iron grip.

"Mum, I'm fine! Really!" With that she let me go, and gave me a smile.

And then I remembered something else that had happened.

I had told her the truth.

Told her what I thought that our religion was doing to us.

And then I remembered her reaction to it, and I suddenly found myself close to tears. "Mum . . ." I started, but she shook her head.

"Don't think about that now. You were unconscious for about five minutes, and something is going on in the basement. They seem to have stopped fighting." I frowned at her, as if asking for an explanation, and she shrugged, turning back to Amethyst. "A goblin tried to break through that door a little while ago, and some of the people who had been pushing it closed said that they heard Zelda68 telling them to get back, but they're not sure." She looked up at the door, most of which could be described more as splinters than protective barrier. "They haven't come through here, and no-one understands why. I hope Zelda68 has everything under control . . ."

"Of course she does." I insisted. "You've seen the mayor's carvings. You've seen what she faced when she was only sixteen. That was two years ago. Think about that." My mother blinked and frowned.

"Yes, but winning that last battle also meant losing it." She said in a low voice. I frowned at her.

"And she's fought armies of goblins before. Why should these ones be any different?" My mother took a deep breath, as if about to say something, but then faltered and waved me off. "What?" I asked. "What is it?"

". . . Well . . . everybody's backed away from, the door, given what happened before, but some people think . . . they could hear the goblins talking."

"Talking?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "You mean properly?" My mother nodded fervently, and I frowned.

There were no sounds of battle on the other side of the door, as if everybody had stopped fighting. There were no goblin cries, no human screams, and the clanging of metal on metal was absent.

But, hidden in the silence, I swear I could have heard a human voice. Zelda68's voice. I glanced at my mother who glanced at me, and we kept listening.

We sat there for a couple of minutes, tense, along with everyone else. We waited to see what was happening. We waited to see who had won. They had stopped fighting, and the only reason I could think they would do that would be because somebody had won the battle. But who?

Were Zelda68, the Guide and Felix still standing?

Were they even still _alive_?

There was no way that three people could defeat an entire army in the space of a few minutes . . .

But then again, I would've said that there was no way for a sixteen year old girl to kill demons, and Zelda68 had proved me wrong at every turn.

I would've said that it was impossible to build a house in a day.

I would've said it was impossible to build a ladder up to the floating island.

I would've said it was impossible for there to be a secret system of tunnels created by goblins under the village.

I would've said it was impossible for the corruption to stop spreading . . .

But from her first day here, Zelda68 had made the impossible possible.

She had turned the tide, another thing I would've called impossible.

She had beat the corruption, something that I thought would be impossible with a thousand men . . .

But one girl had done it.

One girl who was a little older than me when she had started on her quest.

I felt like I had known her for years . . . maybe because so much had happened since I met her, maybe because the mayor had shown us her entire life's story, maybe because she had been such a good friend to me.

And the Guide . . .

He was such a nice person . . .

And I would've said it was impossible to read a 1000-page dictionary all the way through.

But Felix . . .

He was as good as an uncle to me now. Not dad, he could never be like my dad, but he was as good as an uncle.

And Amethyst needed a father.

I looked over at the baby, and she looked back at me. She was too young to understand what was going on. Too young to know that she was in any kind of danger. Too young to know that she might never see her father again.

I turned to the door, waiting for someone to open it. Goblin or otherwise.

I sat there for a minute, eyes never wavering from the door, heart pounding in my chest. And then I heard something.

Smashing. And shouting.

But only between two people . . . why?

After a little while the smashing turned into a kind of crackling, and then . . . shouting, there was shouting . . . and then the sound of an arrow hitting home and an inhuman scream.

And then a couple of minutes of noise – bustling about, walking, talking, but oddly enough no fighting.

And then something really absurd happened, even by Zelda68's standards.

A bruised and battered Zelda68, the Guide, Felix and the swordsmen emerged – some of them limping, some of them being carried by others, some in need of support, but all of them alive. And who was with Zelda68?

To her side was a goblin.

With glasses.

And a tie.

Blushing.

This day just can't get any weirder, can it?

Several men from the village began to charge at the goblin, and it gave a pathetic squeal and shielded itself behind Zelda68.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" She cried, holding out her hands in a gesture for them to stop. "This guy's okay. He's with me." The men froze in their tracks with vacant expressions. She sighed. "Everybody, this is the hero's Goblin Tinkerer. He's more than welcome here, and he doesn't mean any of you any harm. He was kicked out by the others and has nowhere to go, so don't be mean to him, alright?" The goblin gave a shy smile and a wave.

Silence.

The swordsmen moved back to their families, who greeted them with open arms, and Felix over to us. Zelda68 went over to the mayor, who had wide eyes. The goblin looked around nervously, but then said something to Zelda68, who rolled her eyes and reached into her pouch, drawing out gold coins.

Well . . . I'm guessing we won. Hard to tell, really.


	29. Speeches and Sighs

"So . . ." the mayor began to the Guide, and I rolled my eyes. "You're saying . . . that Zelda68 . . . managed to turn the goblins around . . . with nothing but words?" The Guide nodded. "And you're also saying that the leader of the goblins had sided with the demons?" The Guide nodded slowly. "And then Zelda68 ordered his archers to shoot him down, and then she let the goblins flee into the tunnels, promising to give them food and water?" The Guide nodded fervently. "So the goblins are now our allies?"

"Obviously." The Guide answered, an eyebrow raised.

"And you're also saying that this little fellow here is not just _a_ goblin tinkerer but _the_ Goblin Tinkerer, and that he's the one who gave Zelda68 the rocket boots?"

"Sold," the Goblin Tinkerer corrected him. "And I'm not little!"

"Be nice to the mayor." I said to him, wiping my face with the bloodied towel which the mayor had provided free of goblin blood and gore. "You're lucky that the villagers didn't take you out then and there, and that he didn't mind you coming here."

"You said that everybody here was nice!" he said in a whinging voice. "Why aren't they nice to me?"

"You know as well as I do that there's a lot of prejudice between humans and goblins. It'll take them a while to get used to you, but then they'll be fine. Don't worry."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because they did with me." The goblin blinked, and I grinned at him. "Or at least should now that I've saved their asses yet again." I turned to the mayor. "Can he stay with us?" I asked.

"What?" asked the mayor.

"He's got nowhere to go, and nobody in the town would let him stay with them. Can he stay in one of your spare rooms, at least until I build him a house?" The mayor held my gaze for a moment, and then sighed.

"I suppose . . . he seems nice enough. For a goblin, anyway." The goblin grinned ecstatically and shook the mayor's hand.

"Thank you so much, chi – er, mayor!"

"That's fine. Zelda68, can you keep an eye on him for the time being? Just make sure he doesn't get into any kind of trouble." The mayor smiled. "It's all so odd . . . I'm living with a hero, a Guide and a goblin." The Goblin Tinkerer blinked.

"Hero? There really is a hero? You live with a hero? I'm going to live with a hero? Who? Who's the hero?"

"She's the hero." The Guide said immediately, pointing at me.

"Yep, that's me." I said, raising a hand. The goblin stared at me, mouth open and face vacant, then frowned.

". . . I thought you'd be taller." He decided. I laughed.

"They all do." I said with a smile, walking away from the group and over to the crowd in the church. I was immediately met with the stares of half a dozen people, and even more when the Goblin Tinkerer followed me in. Though most of the crowd parted when we walked by, one familiar figure remained.

"Hello!" Leaf greeted the goblin brightly, holding his hand out to the only one in the village that he hadn't already shaken. "My name's Leaf! What's yours?"

"Er – Goblin Tinkerer." He said, shaking his hand and then turning to me. "What was that you were saying about prejudice between humans and goblins?"

"Oh, I'm not a human." Leaf said with an infectious grin. "I'm a dryad! Zelda68 saved my forest!"

"And you." I responded with an almost identical grin. "Why don't you two have a chat, I think that the mayor's about to give a speech." Leaf nodded, the grin never fading, and the two sat down.

You wouldn't think that a century-old dryad who had never had a soul to speak to until a few weeks ago would make such a good conversationalist, but Leaf was so good at it that he never let the other person get a word in edgewise!

I waded aimlessly through the crowd until a spotted two familiar red blurs, and sat down next to Sarita and Felix.

"You okay?" I asked Felix, who smiled.

"Fine." He answered, clutching an empty bottle that I knew had once been a healing potion. "You?"

"As always." I responded, and he frowned at me.

"No, you're not. I saw you on the floor, surrounded by goblins. The Guide said that you bruised your ribs. Have you even taken a healing potion?"

"Gave them all to the swordsmen." I answered easily. "Don't worry. It's supposed to be me that worries about you."

"True enough."

"In which case I intend to fulfil my duties. What about you, Sarita?" I asked. "Not that long ago there was a goblin standing above you with his axe raised. Same with you, Christina." Christina glanced up from Amethyst, and smiled at me.

"We're all fine," the older woman assured me. "Thanks to you." I couldn't help but blink at the unexpected praise. I grinned at her.

Perhaps she was alright after all.

"Thanks!" I responded, and Felix frowned back at her.

"What about me?" He asked. "You haven't said thanks to me." She blinked and smiled at him.

"Thank you, knight in shining armour." She said. Sarita began making gagging noises and the associated motions as she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and I turned the grin on her.

"Yes, by the way," Sarita began, purposely interrupting the moment. "What exactly did happen in there?" I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Nobody told you?" I asked. She arched her own eyebrow at me.

"Felix was the only one in there conscious, other than the Guide, and when you came out it was all very confusing." I paused and nodded slowly.

"I suppose it could've been." I agreed, the grin returning.

"It was. You came out with a living, breathing goblin who you insisted was a friend, and there didn't seem to be enough bodies behind you. What exactly happened?" The grin faded into a small smile.

"A lot." I answered simply. "And I have a feeling the mayor is about to tell you." I frowned. "What is it with him and speeches?"

"I could ask the same of you." Felix responded. Christina turned to him, and looked as if she was going to ask what he meant, but I only just stopped myself from frowning when something occurred to me.

The scroll of paper . . . the scroll of old paper, hidden in the mantelpiece where the stolen painting used to be in Christina's old house. I had given it to her . . .

But after all that, what had it said?

She seemed to be in a particularly good mood . . . or maybe having a goblin ready to kill her had just given her some perspective. Made her feel a little happy to be alive.

Actually, no, that didn't sound like her. She'd more likely be clutching her daughters and thanking her God than grinning and thanking the hero who had saved them. She did tend to look through me, as if I was as simple as a vessel sent to save her, and that the spirit inside wasn't worth thanking.

And yet she was thanking me now . . . whatever that scroll was, it had put her in a good mood . . .

Or at least she didn't seem quite as depressed as usual.

. . . What makes me think I know her so well? We're nothing alike, her daughter and her are nothing alike, and her and her fiancé don't seem all that similar. How do I know her? I've been known to misjudge people . . .

Maybe I'm a bit more of a people person than my title would suggest . . .

I opened my mouth, considering asking Christina what the scroll was, when I realised that if she wanted me to know she would've told me already.

She wanted to keep it secret . . .

And I should respect that. Her secret didn't have lives depending on it, and it wasn't large enough to cause her any pain.

Less of a secret, more of a white lie. A white lie in saying that she hadn't received the scroll, something that she wanted to keep secret.

Something that I could appreciate, and had gone through myself. Although _that_ lie had been more black than white.

Forcing my mind away from the secrets, I resurfaced with a small groan, feeling a pain shoot through my chest as I moved to speak.

"You alright?" Sarita asked concernedly.

"O'course not. Never am. That's just me." I responded, a cynical smile twisting my face through the pain.

"_Yes_," Sarita began with a small roll of her eyes, "but don't forget that we need you in tip-top shape if any of us are going to make it through the night. 'Kay?"

"What about your knight in shining armour over there?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "You've got him on watch 24/7, and yet you turn to the eighteen-year-old with the hole in her back and the broken ribs?"

"Broken? You said that they were just bruised!"

"Well I don't know, do I? Same difference." Sarita made a concerned face and gave a deep sigh.

"You should be at the hospital." She decided, turning to face me with a small glare. Felix nodded fervently, but Christina simply sat still, appearing slightly dismayed and unsure what to do at the idea of a girl sitting beside her with broken ribs. Amethyst, for her part, seemed bemused by the whole thing.

"As soon as this is over I'll go. Happy?"

"Not at all, but it'll have to do." She grumbled, sitting back and crossing her arms with a frown.

". . . You should lie down." Christina ordered, putting her squirming child into its father's hands. "If the ribs are broken then they might perforate your lungs. I think, at least."

"And changing my posture will stop that how . . .?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. She moved as if to force me down by my shoulders, but I raised my hands in defence and she frowned, looking as if to find a way to explain herself somewhere in her head.

". . . You should anyway. I think it has something to do with your lungs. I'm not a doctor, but I think I heard that somewhere."

"Who cares about my lungs anyway?" I demanded with a frown. "It's not like I need them for anything." Christina blinked at this and cast a slightly nervous glance around, as if worried that someone would hear. "Relax!" I advised her with a smile. "I'm fine. And if I'm not, do kindly remember everything that just happened. It's no small wonder that I'm still in one piece."

"Well," Felix began, an eyebrow arched. "I'd say that pieces of you breaking up inside your body are fairly serious, even when compared to being ripped in half. You should lie down."

"Ugh – but . . ." I made a face and let out an exasperated sigh, lying down on the hard wood bench. "I'm only doing this because you're you." I revealed to Felix, pointing a finger accusingly at him. "Okay?"

"Uh . . . I think so." He replied with a nervous smile. I laughed up at him, and closed my eyes, trying to stop my back from complaining once again.

_Now is not the time for fainting!_ I scolded myself, scowling as I straightened myself out and felt a red-hot pain erupt from my back._ You can sleep when you get back to the mayor's! You stopped a goblin army in their tracks and, in that, killed one of the demon's followers! Stop acting as weak as a kitten!_

Felix, Christina and Sarita remained quiet, encouraging me to do the same. For a while the only sounds around me were the soft gurgles of the baby girl and the chatter of the crowd around us. I tried my best to ignore the light behind my eyes and the soft chanting of the mages opening the door again, silently praising the mayor for postponing his speech. What had happened in the cellar would take a lot of explaining, and I had a nasty feeling that he might leave some of it to me . . .

I sighed again and raised a hand to my back at the pain that admitted from it as soon as I did so, letting my grip on the world around me disappear as I concentrated on the pains that quietly echoed throughout my body every second. I vaguely – actually, very vividly remembered that the pain used to echo about me with every breath, and how the blood used to gush from my wounds with every heartbeat. It was all so simple back then . . .

Simple? Actually, no.

It was _hectic_.

I was so young, and so much rested on my shoulders. By the time I could pick up a sword I knew that it was my destiny to use it against evil, and that it meant scouring all that I knew of the world and beyond.

Which I did.

I conquered giants, slayed demons, and scoured dungeons . . .

. . . But that was just my life. My day job. That was what I did, and what I was meant to do.

It all seemed _normal_ . . .

And then, it ended. As suddenly as it started. And then my life was over, and my title finally deserved . . .

A hero . . .

I had always hated that word. Secretly, fervently, _passionately_. There was something about that one syllable that set my teeth on edge.

And why?

Because it was who I am. It was what people called me, it was what I was meant to be, what I was becoming, and what I was. It was the reason that my friends were brought into the realm of the living, and the reason that I walked the earth of Terraria. The reason I was there to build all those buildings, and to mine all those caverns, and watch all those sunsets.

And why did Terraria need a hero? Why were my friends there for me when I needed them, and them me?

Because the world needed balance.

Because the corruption was there.

Because of the Eye of Cthulhu. That was why I died, and why the Eye did.

There can be no shadow without light, and no light without shadow. And if the shadow takes all, then the light will be there to fight back. That was what had happened here. The corruption had come so close to taking this place, and so light had fought back. A single candle, flickering against the ever thickening darkness. Perhaps that was even how I ended up here.

The world had decided that I was to be a hero, and this land needed one. Because I was the Saviour of Light, and this place was falling to the darkness.

And the word "hero" was supposed to describe everything about me. _Me_. That was what I was, a hero.

Apparently, I'm not a swordsman. I'm not a teenage girl. I'm not alive. I'm not dead. I'm not in pain. I'm not suffering. I'm a hero, and heroes show no weakness.

I'm not Zelda68. I'm that girl over there, the hero. The one who's supposed to do so much, save so much, and do it just because she is who she is.

. . . Which I do. Which I did, which I have the feeling I'm going to keep doing because it's just what I do.

"Ugh . . ." I groaned to myself, placing a hand over my eyes.

Maybe I should _enjoy_ peacetime next time, and not just mope about like a depressed teenager with nothing to do. I should have realised that I was about to get dragged back into a brand new fray.

Like the rest of the world.

But hopefully, this time, I'll finish off the damn corruption for good.

I let my arm fall limply by my side and tried to adjust my position, wincing at the pain emitting from my throbbing stab wound. Practically every muscle in my body was aching, and for a second I irrationally wished that I had kept a healing potion or two for myself. But, God, had those swordsmen needed them. Most of them had been knocked against the wall before the whole thing had even started and stayed out for the most of the battle, but some had come to and received more than a couple of bruises from the nearby goblins in thanks.

But they were probably in less pain than me. My muscles ached all over from the acrobatic stunts that I had been forced to pull, particularly those in my neck and arm from the dodgy sword manoeuvres that I had used. Cuts seemed to cover my entire form and all of them stang and demanded attention, while I had a few nasty gashes up my side and along my legs – not to mention all of the angry red and purple bruises that the goblins had kicked onto me, and the fractured ribs that I felt were puncturing my lungs like shards of glass with every would-be breath.

. . . And here I am, lying on a church bench, in the middle of a crowd, without a healing potion in sight. I probably wouldn't feel that much better if I did – potion sickness seemed to be coming at me again. It used to all the time, but through all of my adventures (and misadventures, to be sure) I had grown somewhat immune to it. But then I hadn't needed that many during the two-year gap that had formed between my victory over the demons and that fateful day when I had woken up and found a sunflower above my head.

I resisted the urge to grin to myself as I tried to pinpoint when exactly over the last two years I had taken a healing potion – and then remembered the incident which could so easily have killed me for a second time . . .

. . . And just how ridiculously morbid that situation had been.

_I began to try and blink the spots away from my eyes as a blinding light began issuing from above me. I tried to reaffirm my grip on my senses, and felt a searing pain emit from my back, head and leg. I winced and moved my arm to my forehead, in so finding that I was drenched with a thin layer of water that was between the air and the hard bed of stone that I found myself regaining consciousness in. One question ringed throughout my dazed and confused mind, eventually finding its way out of my throat once at least slightly self-aware._

_ "Where the hell am I?" I asked the world in a hoarse voice, opening my eyes to the dim place I was in, and finding an answer. Or at least, I knew that something bad had happened._

_ How had I known that? Well, I had just regained consciousness and the first thought that ran through my mind wasn't _How long have they been there?_ in the direction of the Guide, and my groaning didn't sound the cry of "She's awake! Come on, in here! She's saved you lot all too many times, at least come and say hello!"_

_ Bless the Guide, really . . . when he hasn't got his hand on a paper plane, at least._

_ . . . Yes, anyway, where am I?_

_ I opened my eyes and stared up at a bright light shining down from above me. I squinted and blinked vigorously, surprised at the contrast between the darkness that I found myself in and the incredibly bright light that was issuing from above my head. My head lolled from side to side whenever I tried to face directly upwards, and I let out another groan._

_ I instinctively tried reaching into my pouch, though either for a healing potion or magic mirror I wasn't sure. I found that my hand, as well as most of my limbs, were trembling with the cold of the water, and that I had a bloodied dagger in my grip._

_ How the hell . . .?_

_ I moved to look at my leg – the pain in which was growing – and felt a stabbing pain erupt from the side of my head. Letting out a cry of pain, I clapped a hand to the side of my head . . ._

_ And drew it back as I found my fingers coated with blood._

_ Blood . . . pain . . . water . . ._

_ My eyes snapped open as I realised where exactly I must be, having memories of such a place clear as day in my disoriented mind. As ever, the past was clearer and far more interesting than the present._

_ There was a time, not incredibly long since passed, that I had to fall down an ebonstone abyss, lucky horseshoe in hand, to find water. And during that time period, I had almost drunk that pool dry._

_ When the corruption had vanished, and when the parts of it that I had purified had returned to normal, it had left behind the massive scars in the landscape that it had created. The Eater of Soul nests had turned into gorges and the devourer trapdoors had become rabbit burrows, but the soul of the land had been wounded. The corruption left its scars on the heart of the world, and I had attempted to heal them._

_ I spent the last week gathering up soil in my pouch, ridiculous and pointless as it sounded. I remember emptying it of everything but the essentials, and then setting off to fill up the wounds that my purification of Terraria had left behind. I remember standing on the edge of an old abyss, judging whether I could fill such a big gap in with what I had collected, when . . ._

_ A goblin scout . . . what?_

_ I did my best to focus on the memory, and ignore the darkness calling me back out of the realm of the living._

_ A goblin scout had jumped me from behind . . ._

_ I had spun around, trying to shake him off before his blade could find its way into my flesh. I plunged a dagger into the enemy and it let out an inhuman squeal, its knife falling to the ground . . ._

_ And then . . . with the last of its strength . . ._

_ It pushed the both of us over the edge._

_ That was where I was . . ._

_ At the bottom of what had once been an ebonstone pit, and I had broken . . ._

_ Actually, what bones had I broken? My leg hurt like hell and my back had hit the ground hard, and I must've hit my head against the stone floor. So chances were that my leg was broken, my back was bruised and I might've done something-or-other to my skull. I couldn't have fractured it, could I? I wouldn't be conscious if that had happened . . ._

_ God, would that be dramatic . . . the girl who had slain armies, who had killed demons, who had purified the land and vanquished the corruption, taken down by a single goblin . . ._

_ But then again, I have always been Queen of Drama._

_ And here I am, in such a dramatic situation. Once again. Stuck at the bottom of a pit. Leg broken, no way to climb. Head wound, no way of sitting up without the world turning upside-down. Slowly bleeding out._

_ I let out a groan._

_ Why couldn't I have just worn a lucky horseshoe? If I'd done that, this would never have happened! Of all the weapons of the ridiculous amount I own to leave behind . . ._

_ . . . Okay . . ._

_ So what I really need right now is a healing potion. Or a magic mirror._

_ The unfortunate thing is that I can't seem to move my arms without the pain increasing . . . very dramatic indeed. How on earth had I managed to touch my pouch before? How come I could do it then and not now?_

_ Okay . . . okay . . . I'm weakening. That's never good._

_ There's nothing I can do._

_ I just have to lie here and bleed out . . ._

_ . . . But who was it that had bettered me?_

_ I turned my head to look at the goblin. The pain worsened, but I was determined to see him. I can be very adamant._

_ The scout had skin so green it was almost blue, and eyes that almost seemed to glow an eerie yellow against the inky blackness of the pit, even with the life absent from them. I had stabbed him in the stomach, and his sickly black-blue blood flowed out of it._

_ Goblin blood always confused me. Some bled red, some bled green, and some bled black. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what they bled or why they bled it, and to be honest it didn't so much fascinate me as disgust me._

_ Believe it or not . . . me, Zelda68, who has killed so many monsters over the years . . . I'm not a big fan of blood. I've seen plenty of it, I've drawn no small amount of it, and I have walked home splattered with it. But I don't really wanna know why it is that goblins bleed rainbows. It's just wrong._

_ I looked at the goblin corpse with admiration. He reminded me a little too much of me in my final moments – stabbing the demon with the last of my energy, just as he had thrown the both of us over the edge._

_ He was a hero in his own right . . ._

_ If he were just any old goblin, I would either burn the corpse or just leave it to the zombies. If it were a scout, I would make sure to rip the cloth off its waist – a symbol of its rank. If there ever came a need to draw the goblins out of hiding, showcasing how many of them I had killed would be the easiest way to do it, and so the goblins would be more than happy to start a war over cloth._

_ It only occurred to me now just how disrespectful it is to strip a soldier of his rank after he has done his duty. Memories of the soldier should live on, untainted by time. And what I was doing by taking the cloth was a terrible, terrible thing._

_ That goblin, that single scout out of the ridiculous amount that I have killed, had managed to finish me off single-handedly, even if it had cost him his life._

_ . . . There was no way that I could take his rank from him._

_ I looked back up at the sun, feeling myself once again fall into darkness. The light began to fade as the world around it did, until nothing but a speck remained, and then it too faded, like a candle burning out._

_ I lost consciousness, feeling sure that nothing could bring me back into the light, and that all was finally over._

_ Although each second was filled with agony they soon began blending more easily into minutes, and then I felt sure hours. I lay there for what might've been an hour, or might've been several sunlit days, until I felt sure that months had passed and that the world had frozen with my absence. But, in the end, I was called back to reality by something that I should have expected wholeheartedly._

_ Voices . . . calling me . . ._

_ A figure blocking out some of the light, calling something . . ._

_ ". . . Zelda68! Zelda68! Hang on!"_

_ Someone calling my name . . ._

_ I squinted through my eyes, honing all of my senses to what was beginning to feel like their maximum to try and make out who the figure was. My grip on the world began to tighten as I spotted that the figure had distinctly (and of course ridiculously) spiky hair._

_ "Guys, she's over here!" cried the Guide. "I've found her! She's hurt! Quick, give me the mirror!" I felt my mouth shape itself into a weak, crooked smile as another figure with a long braid of green hair (the Dryad, as my brain later decided) handed the Guide a small, circular hand mirror with odd markings on the back of it. "Catch!" called the Guide uselessly as he dropped the mirror down to me. I snatched it out of the air with the last of my strength, letting out a cough which for a second I felt sure would make me let out blood._

_ A few minutes ago I wouldn't even have the strength to make that catch, but something about that the fact that my friends were there to save _me_ for once gave me the strength, and something in the hope that I might not die for good at the bottom of a stone pit gave me the ability to actually let the escape plan work._

_ And something to do with that figure with the ridiculously spiky hair made me laugh._

_ "You took your bloody time!" I laughed up at the Guide, letting his presence lift my spirits. He frowned down at me and I knew that he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes._

_ "You're unbelievable!" he shouted down at me. "Do you have any idea the amount of times that you've gone off exploring without letting us know? And then you go off and manage to get yourself wounded, and you expect us to know straight off that you've been hurt?"_

_ "No." I admitted with another cough. "But seriously, how long did it take you?"_

_ "What?" he asked, concern seeping back into his voice. "You mean you don't know? How bad are you?" I tried to take a breath, but it turned into a violent coughing fit and only ended with my gasping for air and once again clinging tenaciously to the edge of consciousness. "I can barely see you, tell me what you've broken." At this his voice broke, and he let his worries show on his face. "Tell me you're okay, please!"_

_ "I'll be fine, Guide . . ." I reassured him. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I've had worse."_

_ "Yeah, that's what you said when –"_

_ "I say it a lot, okay? Don't worry. I'll . . ." I took a gulp before letting the word out, "live."_

_ Without another word I looked into the magic mirror. Thank God for mirrors like those . . . I'd have died a hundred times over if it weren't for them._

_ "See you at home." Called down the Dryad quickly, doing her best to maintain her all-important dignity._

_ I looked at the reflection that stared at me. Smiling through a bloodied face, with blood coating her forehead and soaked through her hair. Not exactly what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. But was it this morning? Was it days ago, or hours? There was of way of telling. Then the reflection suddenly shifted and warped, reforming into a picture of what I considered home – a simple bed in a small wooden house, weapons lining the room and a shelf of plants along the wall. I blinked at the reflection, resisting the urge to clutch at my wounds and wince as I knew what was coming next._

_ This was going to be rough . . ._

_ I took a strangled breath as the reflection suddenly became the world and the darkness of the pit began to disappear as the mirror began to glow extravagantly. I lost myself in the picture the mirror presented me with, and then the picture was like a whirlpool, pulling me inside and down. The little air that was in my lungs rushed away and I felt as if I was underwater, with the surface far away. And then I was falling, falling into the bed, and landing hard on the mattress._

_ Suddenly, _violently_, I was home. And I knew that the Guide would be there as fast as he could to check up on me and, hopefully, offer me a healing potion._

If only he was here to do that for me now . . .

In a way, this situation is even worse than that one. Sure, back then I had a broken leg, a bruised back and a concussion, but now I'm bruised all over and have broken limbs, yet my body refuses to let me lose consciousness.

In the middle of a crowd.

In a church.

And, somewhere over to my left, there is a dryad chatting with a goblin.

Can this day get any weirder?

. . . Actually, knowing my life, it's probably about to.

I paused as I realised that the chanting of the mages could no longer be heard in the crowd, and that I felt sure there was something looming above me.

"You all right?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and I opened my eyes with raised eyebrows.

Looming over me was a girl about my age, perhaps a year or two older, her face upside-down compared to mine. It was hard to guess her age – she had a kind of ageless quality about her that was hard to describe. Her eyes were an odd steel-grey that I had never seen before, and her skin a little too fair – as if she spent all her time indoors. Her hair was an unnatural hot pink, tied back in a short ponytail even though there was barely enough of it to do so. Her lips too were painted in the colour, parted in a curious frown and quizzical look, as though she were in deep thought. My eyebrows raised even further when I realised that she was garbed in the loose, blue robes patterned with strange symbols of a mage, despite her age. She must be a real go-getter to be a mage already at her age . . .

But then I'm one to talk, I suppose.

Sarita, Christina and Amethyst sat just down the bench from me, seemingly uninterested in the strange girl that seemed to be fascinated with me. I could see a faint blush on Sarita's cheeks however, and she faced away – as if this girl was something of a role model for her, and she was embarrassed that she should approach me so suddenly and directly.

". . . I would say yes, but then Christina would argue." I replied in answer to her question. She smiled a toothy grin which I returned with a smile, liking her already.

"Abigail." She offered, holding out a hand to mine. I took it and shook it, moving to sit up. At the movement she pushed me back down forcefully, and I glared at her.

"Why can't I sit up? I don't get it." I grumbled. She laughed at this, and I made a pitiful expression which she met with a wild grin.

"Becaaaaause . . ." she began in answer, stretching out the word for as long as possible. She placed a hand on the side of my face and I flinched slightly at the touch, but she closed her eyes for a few seconds and opened them with a satisfied smirk. "You've broken three ribs and bruised pretty much all of the rest, you've got fluid in your lungs which is going to be hell to drain out, and you've got bumps and bruises everywhere else. I'd say that's a cause as good as any to lie down." I blinked and returned her grin tenfold.

"Impressive!" I laughed, reaching into my pouch. I drew out a restoration potion and held it out to her, and she gulped it down as soon as it was in her hands.

"That really takes it out of me." She admitted. "But it's one of the coolest things I can do. And in this case it was worth it, because you _really_ need to go to a doctor."

"I've had worse." I countered easily.

"I know." She chimed in with perfect timing, flashing me an impish grin. "You've got a fair amount of scars, don't forget, even if most of them aren't there for everyone to see. Plus there are bandages wrapped around your middle, and I'd be willing to say that you've got a pretty bad wound on your back that refuses to heal. You've lead a rough life, obviously, and look at the ridiculous amount of weapons you're carrying . . ." She squinted at me slightly, as if trying to read my face. I frowned at her.

"You have more mood-swings than me, you know that?" I said with a frown. She tilted her head to the side in concentration, and I threw my hands in front of my face in defence. "Stop that!" I cried. "You remind me of the Guide . . ."

"_The_ Guide?" she asked in surprise, blinking. "As in the hero's Guide? As in the guy who spends way too much time in the library?"

"That's definitely him." I agreed. "And seriously, stop looking at me like that."

"It's not like I can read minds!" she laughed. "But seriously, you make no sense!" I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Neither do you." I argued. "Little-Miss-Mage." I raised my gaze to meet the pink blur atop her head. "And neither does your _hair_. It's so . . . _pink_!"

"You don't like it?" she asked.

"I don't know! It's weird! It looks so . . . unnatural. Honestly, I wouldn't have thought it possible to have hair _that_ pink."

"Maybe it isn't." She shrugged, taking another sip of her potion. ". . . Anyway, what's your name?"

"Zelda68." I answered without batting an eyelid. Abigail raised her eyebrows.

"You have numbers in your name?" she asked with a frown. ". . . Cool." I grinned at her smugly. "So, where are you from, Zelda68?"

"Um . . ." I began, unsure what to tell her. If I told her the truth, it would only lead to more questions – but if I lied to her I felt sure she'd know. ". . . Not here." I answered in a half truth.

"Then where?" she asked, in a tone which begged me to continue. I propped myself up on an elbow, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you won't tell me. I don't understand where you could have come from outside of the village. It's all corrupted."

"It's not!" I replied immediately. She blinked at the suddenness and resoluteness of the statement, and I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance with myself. "Sorry. I'm not from here, I'm from a place . . . a place that's free of the corruption. Don't ask me how I got here – I have no idea myself." Abigail paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, as if trying to find the sincerity that I presented in them. She then nodded and grinned at me.

"Sounds too good to be true." She laughed. "I would've thought that the corruption was everywhere. Good to hear that there's still some light out there . . ." I frowned at the morbid note in her cheerful demeanour, and the fact that it centred over her doubting the power of light over the shadows.

"Of course there is." I insisted with a small smile. "There always is. There is no shadow without the light, and no light without the shadow. Don't go forgetting that."

For a moment neither of us said anything, but her smile widened slightly.

"You're a poet at heart, huh?" she asked, her smile turning into a boisterous grin. I gave a small laugh and began to blush, looking away from her keen gaze.

"No . . . I'm really not." I laughed. Abigail gave a smirk in return and downed the rest of her potion, handing me the empty bottle. She then turned to face Sarita who, despite the fact she was sitting right next to the young mage, looked as if she was hoping that she wouldn't be noticed.

"Hey!" she greeted with another grin, waving a hand at Sarita as though she had just arrived.

"H-hey." The young girl replied, meeting Abigail's gaze evenly with a small smile.

"No need to be shy." Abigail jested with raised eyebrows. "That should be my job if it comes to it."

"Or mine!" I offered, and Sarita gave a shaky laugh and blushed.

"Sorry," she laughed. "I suppose that after spending a lot of time acting casual with the Hero of Terraria I should be okay with . . ." she stopped in her tracks and raised an eyebrow at me as I frantically gestured for her to do so from my awkward position. Abigail blinked and turned her steel-eyed gaze on me, admiration and shock hidden in her irises.

"The hero of what-now?" she asked – or rather, demanded – crossing her arms over in their loose blue sleeves.

Should I tell her? I mean, she as good as knows already, but nobody is supposed to know before the speech, that would be what the mayor would want . . . Sure, the swordsmen, Sarita, Leaf and the Goblin Tinkerer knew, but that's different . . .

Actually, what am I saying? I am valuing a goblin, no matter how shiny his boots may be, above a mage in terms of keeping secrets!

"Uh–I . . ." I stammered, trying to wrestle my ego down in my subconscious to come up with a resolution that was both self-satisfying and intellectual.

"Hey!" came a voice from the crowd, blissfully interrupting the awkward moment. The Guide emerged, holding a towel at the ready and wiping the black blood from his face.

I pushed myself into a sitting position from my lying down, batting away the hands that tried to push me back down and blushing furiously. The Guide gave a small laugh at my distress, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing himself.

Don't ask me why.

I really don't want to think about why.

"Who's this?" he asked in an attempt to start a conversation, pointing at Abigail.

"Abigail." She answered with a smug smile. "And you're the hero's Guide, I've seen you around. So . . ." she moved over to give the Guide a seat, his and my eyes locked onto hers. "Where are you two from, exactly?" The Guide's cheeks went from a faint blush to pale, and we both stammered and tripped over half-formed words in trying to come up with something that she would believe.

Thankfully, Sarita interrupted us with "Look, there's the mayor!" – a cry which all of the villagers responded to. They took their seats and faced the altar where, sure enough, the mayor stood. As if under a spell, all of the villagers suddenly took their seats and faced the mayor expectantly, their faces unsure yet full of trust.

I'm starting to think that they are under a spell. Seriously, why else would they act like that, especially after the shock that they had just had? And the mayor _is_ a mage . . .

"Sorry, gotta go." Abigail whispered to me as the conversation died out. "Nice meeting you."

"Nice to meet you too." I replied with a warm smile, having a strange feeling that we would be seeing her again as she darted off through the crowd and joined the rest of the mages on a bench towards the front. Some of the older and more imperious of them shook their heads at her disapprovingly, but her smirk and shrug back almost reduced them to smiling back.

"Citizens of this village," the mayor began in a commanding voice that reverberated on the sides of the church and resounded to my ears with an echo that tore me between averting my gaze and bursting out laughing. "This day has been grave indeed. Our seeking refuge in the church of our lord proved inefficient against so cunning an enemy . . . and although I am sure that the faithful of us have no doubt as to the protection of our gracious and benevolent God, and these walls are bound to be the most safe in the land, the goblins were able to penetrate them." My mouth split into a wild grin and I could swear that the mayor gave me a knowing glance with his sparkling eyes, as if to agree with me.

"You see what he's doing, don't you?" I whispered to the Guide as the villagers began murmuring among themselves.

"How d'you mean?" he asked in return with raised eyebrows.

"He said 'the faithful of us'. Normally that'd be taken for granted." The Guide's eyes widened with a new respect for the man, topping that which he was already displaying.

"He's putting the idea into people's heads . . ." he realised in wonder. "The idea that some of them might not believe. Subtly, inch by inch, he's opening their eyes . . ." I nodded, the grin never fading, and turned back as the mayor resumed his speech and the chatter died out instantly.

"But I come before you today with good news!" he announced. "It is understood among you all that the goblins are not creatures of the corruption?" A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. "In fact, it is the corruption that had forced these creatures from their homes. The goblins that attacked us today are not the same goblins that we have battled with in the past. These goblins were robbed of their heritage and were forced to adapt to ours and, as such, they now speak our language." A series of unreasonably dramatic gasps and questioning shouts rose from the villagers, and the mayor silenced them with a raised hand and a shout of "Please!" Clearing his throat, he continued. "The goblins that attacked us were led astray by a leader who wished the end of us, a leader who sided with the demons. Our swordsmen managed to kill the goblin's chief after he revealed his true intention to his troops – in fact, it was his own archers that shot him down." The mayor made a small pause, as if waiting for someone to contradict him or to argue, but no one dared meet the challenge. ". . . In this chain of events, unlikely as it may seem . . . We have found ourselves an ally in the goblins."

Suddenly the church erupted in shouts and cries and protests, which the mayor's booming voice did little to silence. The Goblin Tinkerer hid himself at the doors of the church, ready to bolt should anyone turn their attention to him. Only the swordsmen, tending their wounds, and the mages, who had no doubt could have found a career in remaining emotionless, remained still. Then, of course, there was me. And the Guide. And Sarita, and Christina, and Felix.

Sitting still. A little oasis of calm in the sea of anger and noise that the room had suddenly become.

. . . Me . . . sitting still . . .

. . . That could never last very long, could it? The mayor seemed to agree with me as well.

At the same moment as I began reaching into my quiver to draw out my jester's arrow in hope of silencing the throng (as I had used it to silence the Dryad and Demolitionist rowing on many other occasions), the mayor threw a single arm upward, and a blue light seemed to collect around it. The light coalesced into a beacon, projecting itself from the man's arm, which tore through all of the noise in the room with the force and impact of a bullet. All the eyes which were there to be turned were suddenly riveted on him once more, and all mouths open and silent. The light faded into nothing but nobody did anything to break the silence that had descended as the mayor put his hand back down on the podium where he stood with a small sigh, no doubt having exhausted his powers with the display.

"Thank you." He breathed, taking a breath. "If I may continue, will you please resume your seats?" Blind obedience was the only response which the villagers seemed able to give. "Now, I know that this must all seem very strange to you, but you have to trust me on this. We are backed into the same corner as the goblins here, surrounded by demons. The goblins are just as defenceless as us here, but if we join forces then we may be able to win this battle against the darkness! United we are stronger than either of us could be on our own, so I think you would agree that we should take all of the help that we can get in such circumstances as this." I couldn't help but admire the calmness of which he begged his people to accept something that I still couldn't believe I had achieved. "Only a number of days ago the village was set upon by a harpey, and they are not even creatures of the corruption! It seems as if all which is evil in this land has been set upon us, and it was time that we raised arms! Together, with the goblins, and with our hero, we can pierce the darkness and bring back the light, avenging all that we have lost!" his voice escalated to a shout, and numerous cries of appreciation began breaking through the crowd. "We shall take up arms and purify the land of this vile darkness, as one we will be unbeatable in spirit and audacity and shall kill those that have killed our friends and relatives!"

It was simple fact, and one which I despised, but all the same it might just save the villagers from their own blind faith:

Everyone has lost someone to the corruption.

"We will rise up, together with all the friends that we can find, all those who have too lost their purity to the darkness, and we will save this village from the darkness which threatens it! My people . . . we begin the battle for survival here!"

With these last words the mayor raised a triumphant fist, and I jumped out of my seat, no longer able to contain my excitement. Giving him a bloodthirsty grin in thanks, I reached over my shoulder and unsheathed my sword, holding it skyward in agreement. The Guide stood up too, his eyes wide with admiration and respect, and raised my gun. Felix did so too, and the rest of the swordsmen soon followed.

Everyone has lost someone to the corruption . . . everyone has a reason to fight back.

Like a ripple moving through the crowd, people stood up and raised their fists, giving cries of exhilaration. Sarita jumped up in her seat, the fire of her hair reflected in her eyes. Christina stood up and clutched her baby protectively, clenching a scroll of old paper close to her chest. All of the mages, Abigail first, raised their arms and let flames gather at the tips of their fingers. Leaf raised a fist of his slender, unused fingers, perhaps feeling sure for the first time that to hold a weapon in them would not be as barbaric as it might seem, his corrupted arm dangling uselessly by his side. The Goblin Tinkerer stood up on his bench, through his glasses the pale glow of a goblin's eyes clearly seen.

Everyone has a reason to fight. They all have a memory to hang onto, and to fight for.

Sarita is doing it for her father. The swordsmen are doing it for Vincent. Christina is doing it for her daughters and her parents. The mages are doing it for the mayor. Leaf is doing it for the forest which it was his duty to protect. It is the Goblin Tinkerer's duty as in all of those with titles for names.

Everyone was fighting for someone, and for everyone. They were doing it for husbands, for wives, for children, for siblings, for neighbours, for friends, for the people they never had the chance to know, for relatives long since lost, for people who were never born, for wanderers reduced to skeletons, for children turned into zombies, for people known by face but not name, for the first victims and the last, for the still mourned and the long since gone . . . For everyone, everywhere, every time. Everyone who had ever died for anything, and everybody who had ever died for nothing. But, at that moment, they weren't individuals anymore. They were the village, and they were an army.

_But . . . who am I fighting for?_

My grin split wider as I found my answer. I'm not just doing it because I am who I am. It's not just because it feels right, or because it is my duty, or because of what the Eye did to me.

I was doing it for my friends. Back home in Terraria and those that I had just made.

But in that moment . . . that shining moment . . . most of all . . .

. . . For the Guide.

And as I glanced at him, that wild grin still spread across my features, I saw another spread across his.

And I knew that he was doing it for me too.

. . . But after that moment passed, we turned away from each other, no doubt each of us forcing themselves not to dwell on whatever had just occurred, or to dismiss it as hormones winning over the brain.

Then again, maybe that's just what I do.

". . . Now, go home and get a good night's sleep." The mayor blissfully interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You might need it for whatever tomorrow will bring."

I turned back to the mayor, who was slowly dropping his fist with everyone else as they each milled out of the seats, heading for the doors. Everyone looked weary and tired from the display of enthusiasm, but their nervous laughter told me that they fully understood what they had just gotten themselves into.

And about time they did, too!

I approached the mayor, the Goblin Tinkerer sticking to my back like a shadow.

"That went well." The old man admitted with a mischievous smile.

"Mayor . . ." I began with a very serious expression. "It would be an understatement to say that that was the best speech I have ever heard!"

"Says the girl who turned the goblins around with one?" he asked, the smile fading, and a small tilt of his head forwards so that I could see his eyes behind his glasses.

"Oh, forget that, will you? You topped it by miles!"

"Well, we'll see whether that's true sooner or later. Our alliance with the goblins may be tested, even with the old prejudices aside."

"Hopefully not just yet." I answered simply, turning to the door and gesturing for the Goblin Tinkerer to follow me.

". . . Does stuff like this happen to you a lot?" the goblin whispered from over my shoulder.

"Stuff like what?" I asked with a frown, turning to face him.

"That's all the answer I needed." He answered, nodding slowly.

There was no point in arguing about it – practically everybody that I knew insisted. They all wanted me to go to the doctor, no matter the ridiculous hour and the fact that he had undoubtedly gone home after what I had already started referring to as '_the_ speech.' In the end, I simply resorted to "I will in the morning, okay? I just need some sleep. Has it seriously been less than a day since I found the scout in that house?"

"Yep." The Guide had answered, nodding fervently. "But it has been a very _long_ day. And you're red and blue all over, you know. Those goblins really did a number on you."

"Do I look in the least bit respectable?" I asked, throwing a hand down to encompass the whole of my figure.

"Do you usually?" he had countered easily, gesturing at the hilt of my sword over my shoulder.

"Do you usually?" I countered with a scowl, pointing a finger at the hair which can only be described with the words 'ridiculous', 'ludicrous', and 'just plain silly.'

"Hey!" he cried, throwing his hands in a defensive shield around his head, as if I were threatening to harm it. "It's cool, okay? Let's just leave it at that."

"Cool? If I didn't know better I'd say that you'd let a slime loose in there! I mean, seriously, there might be things living in there. It's like a nest! And it's practically your distinguishing characteristic, so if you ever want to look respectable then I suggest you get a haircut!"

". . . Not in the best of moods, are you?" he observed, not daring to remove a hand from his defence as we entered the grand front room of the mayor's equally grand house, leaving the Tinkerer to lag behind us and gape in amazement.

"Sorry." I sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose against the headache that was rampaging through my wearied body. "A lot has happened these past few days, y'know?"

"Like what?" he demanded suddenly and sharply, and I turned to him with a frown, stopping in my tracks.

"You're supposed to say 'That's fine!'" I decided after a small pause, starting a walk again at more than my usual rapid pace.

"Hang on – what's up with your hand?" he asked suddenly, and I felt my eyes widen and my pace increase. I winced as I realised that my hand had unconsciously moved to fiddle with the bandage that surrounded my burnt and bloodied hand.

My _corrupted_ hand.

Not that all of me wasn't corrupted . . .

But I couldn't let the Guide find that out! Not yet!

"I'm fine, really!" I cried back, ignoring the protests that emitted from my lungs as I did so. "I just need to sleep it off!"

"No, seriously – Zelda68, come on! There's no point in trying to hide anything from me, I'm your guide for God's sake!"

"I know, and I'm sorry!" I called uselessly back. I hesitated at the beginning of the staircase as the Guide caught up to me. The Goblin Tinkerer looked unsure whether to intervene or not, so he simply began to inspect the carvings on the wall, blinking and staring from the carving to me and back again when he realised that I was in it.

"Just let me see your hand." He insisted, holding out his expectantly. With something between a scowl and a sigh, I placed my gloved left hand in his.

He started at the hand, then back up at my impassive face, before plucking up the courage to pull the leather off and look at the flesh, and he found himself confronted with a bandage, the visible tips of my fingers in a poor state. He began unravelling the bandage, the Tinkerer's face peering around his side, and took the padding beneath off to find himself met with the wreck of my hand. The skin was burnt and peeling, the tissue beneath there for all to see, and I couldn't help but let my arm tremble as the still air met the burns and it began to sear again. His eyes were wide and his own hands trembling, and I gave somewhere between a cry of pain and a gasp as he ventured to touch it.

"My God – how the hell did this happen?" he bellowed, his eyes full of concern rather than anger. He let out a few swears before he managed to contain himself enough to continue. "When?" he demanded suddenly, regaining his control. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday." I answered simply, looking the other way.

"And why did you not mention this before?"

"We had goblins to fight, didn't we? No offence." I added hastily, remembering the presence of the Goblin Tinkerer.

"None taken . . ." he muttered, seemingly mesmerised by the sight of my hand.

"No, you didn't know that yesterday!" The Guide shouted. "Why the hell would you keep something like this to yourself? It needs to get seen to!"

"It served me alright in the battle, okay? That's all that matters in the grand scheme of things."

"Maybe, but it _shouldn't have done_! How did you even manage to burn it like that? I'd have thought it was impossible!"

"Well, maybe it is." I said with a roll of my eyes, beginning the ascent of the stairs, sarcasm replacing guilt in my voice. "Who knows. Can I sleep now?"

"You have to go to a doctor first thing in the morning, okay?" the Guide ordered, pointing a stern finger at me as he began climbing the staircase behind me. "First thing. Promise!"

"Fine, sure, I'll go." I answered, boredom already taking its hold over sarcasm.

_. . . A day._ I reminded myself. _Wow, it's only been a day since the whole hand thing happened. Really only a day since the demon plucked my soul out of my body to ask me to play with her . . ._

I stopped in my tracks along the upstairs corridor.

Could the goblins be her idea of a game? Of a first round? I wouldn't have found that scout if I hadn't happened to walk down that alley and spotted that the door had been forced, and it had been luck that I had even noticed the alleyway in the first place. Had the demon been the one that put that thought in my head, that idea?

She wanted me to face down the goblins, to kill what might be our best chance of survival . . . that was why she had employed their leader, she knew that I could beat him and thought that seeing him with the powers darkness would convince me that the goblins were a lost cause – that they _deserved_ to die . . .

But it had all gone wrong. And now the villagers and the goblins have united, and the corrupted leader is dead.

_Plus_, I now have a Goblin Tinkerer on my side.

. . . It obviously didn't think this one out carefully enough!

I walked into my bedroom and closed the door, bidding the Guide and the Tinkerer a half-hearted goodnight. I felt sure that the high-pitched voice of the demon (or child (or demon (or child (and so forth . . .)))) would soon break into my thoughts with that dreadful giggle or a jibe. But as I glanced around the room all remained silent, except the animated conversation (which I felt sure was about me) between the Guide and the goblin out in the corridor.

No doubt someone who knew me as well as the Guide wouldn't be surprised by my keeping my burn secret, but he would almost definitely wonder why – or why, at least, I didn't combat it with a healing potion. If I'd just done that, then I could've explained it away as nothing to worry about.

But, to be honest, I almost _liked_ to have it there. It was a kind of punishment, a constant reminder of the mistakes I made in my battle with the Eye, and I felt like I deserved it.

If the Guide said that the battle with the Eye was my finest hour, I would be unable to deny it – but I also knew that I had thrust where I should have blocked, shot arrows where I should've done daggers and been altogether overconfident.

Also the finest swordsman of Terraria, but that's just coincidence . . .

I might be my own critic, but I _need_ one. Everyone's always telling me how great I am, it's not good for me . . .

My God . . . listen to me!

_"I already am!"_

I felt my muscles go rigid and a hand move to my waist, ready to draw any of my weapons at the slightest provocation. A shrill giggle echoed through my subconscious in response, sending a chill down my back. That little, high-pitched giggle sent more terror storming through me than the death-scream of a devourer ever could.

_Who else are you competing with?_ I demanded internally, closing my eyes. _You said that it was two against one. Who else are you playing the game with?_

_ "Why so curious?" the voice asked in response, curiosity making it even more shrill than usual. "Do you want to know who your _real_ friends are?"_

I searched through the blackness before my closed eyes, searching for the source of the voice in my head. Suddenly an image came tearing through my subconscious, the image of the girl that I had no choice but to fear, and as I opened my eyes I could no longer be sure whether it was my imagination or reality which presented me with the image before me, because I couldn't make sense of it. I saw the room as if it were through a curtain, but a curtain of shadow which I found unable to penetrate, and the only other person on my side of the curtain was the demon-girl. Although the rest of the world refused to come into focus, she was clear as crystal in her black, writhing robes and a cowl that could not hide the wide grin upon her face and her glowing ember eyes with a mischievous tint.

_Where are we? I demanded immediately, casting a wary glance around the room that was and was not my own. What have you done?_

_ "Just had a bit of fun!" she laughed, taking a step toward me. "You enjoy a bit of a laugh as much as I do, so I'm going to keep you trapped here like a fly in a bottle until you tell me everything."_

_ I have a question or two to ask myself, actually._

_ "Oh, I'm sure you do! Keeping you in the dark about practically everything that I've been up to has been entertaining!"_

_ Learnt some big words now, have you?_

_ "HEY!" she screeched, glaring up into my face. Her red eyes were filled with hatred and malice, and for a second the veins around her forehead stood out in the purple of corrupted creatures – but again, possibly, of demons._

_ I think that these little friendly conversations between us are becoming all too plentiful. After all, if I am playing this bloodthirsty game of yours, then I need some sleep. Deal?_

_ "Oh! You think that the goblins were part of the game, don't you?" she giggled, encircling my battle-wearied figure. "The _real_ game hasn't even started yet! They were just a warm-up!" For a second I felt my face drain of all colour, but just as quickly it was returned in the red of anger. A scowl spread across my face, sending a fresh wave of pain into the cuts that had managed to gather there._

_ A warm-up, you call it? So many of my friends injured, so many innocent goblins killed, an army raised against you, a warm-up? Because if that is the case, then I assure you that my sword will find its way into your gut before the game has even began!_

_ "Feisty, aren't you?" she mused, stepping out of the range of my sword before I could draw it. "Well, in that case, I say this." She began stepping forward again. "If you  
>tell . . . anyone . . . about me . . ." her face inches from mine, a wicked grin spread across it once again. "Trouble will find you." The grin split wider, more like a gash across her dainty features, long since tainted by the darkness. "And your friends!"<em>

_ No longer able to contain my anger, I let out a snarl and ripped a dagger from its sheath at my waist and plunged it into the place where the demon was standing . . ._

_ The girl seemed to dissipate into smoke – if she had ever actually been there – and the dagger sliced through the curtain separating me from the world which I knew like a shark through water._

Reality once again took its hold over the place which the demon had taken me inside my head, and I was standing in the centre of my room, dagger in hand. With a hand still trembling with anger I slid the knife back into its sheath and made as good an imitation of a deep breath that one with still lungs could manage. I glanced over at my desk to see it still a mess from the mad schematic drawing of the previous night, and let out a small sigh, my corrupted hand falling limply by my side.

I raised the trembling hand to my face, staring at the thing as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, unable to take my eyes off it or ignore the truth which it held.

_This must be how Leaf feels . . ._ I thought miserably to myself, half expecting the demon to give a taunt in reply.

I sat down on my bed, grateful for the feel of the mattress give way slightly under my weight. I grabbed a healing potion off my bedside table, scolding myself for not taking it before, and pulled the cork off the bottle, taking a sip to numb the pain. I gave an exalted sigh as the cold tendrils of the potion felt their way around my body, reminding me of the Nurse's gloved hands, numbing all of the pain that it could find. The last batch certainly gave mixed results – potion sickness from one and instant relief from another. Certainly odd, but I wasn't complaining . . .

I gave a grunt as I pushed myself into a lying position on the bed, pulling the sheets over myself and knowing that it might be necessary to wash blood off them in the morning. Both the stab wound in my back my back itself ached at the movement, but began to accept the comfort of the situation after a few seconds. I closed my eyes and settled down, grateful for the second night in a row to have a pillow beneath my head. It wasn't so much of a struggle to do so as normal, as I'd hardly had the chance to relax yet.

_It's been a long day . . ._

20


	30. Nursery Rhymes

"'The night was warm and the wheat turned bread,

"'So young Kirsty lay down her head.

"'But drowning dreams of winter sled,

"'A goblin stood beside the bed.

"'Mother screamed and sister fled,

"'For she was nearly to be wed.

"'Upon return she found with dread,

"'A dagger lying there instead.'"

"Are you _trying_ to freak me out?" I demanded, stopping in my tracks and staring incredulously at the young mage. "What _was_ that?"

"That's why you should be glad I'm here," Abigail responded easily, the light of the torch playing on her fine features. "It's a nursery rhyme – a cautionary tale that every child in the village grows up hearing."

"Your prejudice for us runs deep in the blood, doesn't it?" said the Goblin Tinkerer with a glare, the flames reflected in those ludicrous glasses of his. "That isn't us anymore. We've changed. We're more civilised." He straightened out his tie, as if to prove his point.

"I know, I know," Abigail responded hurriedly, "it's just that the others don't. You shouldn't be surprised that I'm the only one who agreed to come."

"You think they were scared?" I asked, starting to walk again. "I reckon they were just a bit uncomfortable. I mean, after everything that happened yesterday I'm hardly at the top of my game."

"Nor am I," came an echoing voice from behind us. "You don't see me complaining."

I turned to smirk at the figure lagging behind us, the torchlight leaving spiky shadows on the wall behind him. Before that I hadn't thought it possible for his hair to look even more ridiculous, but I was quickly proven wrong. It looked like he was limping from a distance, but I knew he was just having trouble dragging the heavy load that we had so happily gifted to him.

"Yeah, well, you don't have fluid in your lungs!" I called back.

"What?!" he asked in a voice laced with anger and panic. "I thought your ribs weren't that bad!"

"They are," Abigail responded evenly, giving me a funny look.

"You're going to the doctor," declared the Guide, his feet scrambling for a foothold in the stone floor so that he could catch up with us. "As soon as this is over, you're going to the doctor."

"This is more important than me."

"This is only happening because of you!"

"I need a day off."

"Without a doctor?"

"Without having to walk to the doctor."

"Oh, and I suppose walking down a bunch of goblin tunnels is so much easier."

"Yes. And don't argue, you said it."

"With sarcasm. That entire sentence was laced with sarcasm. You of all people should appreciate that!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now shut up, we're getting close."

The Guide grumbled his response and continued dragging his cargo. He was carrying a huge bag stuffed with food, water, supplies, healing potions and bandages – even more than his pouch could handle. I wasn't entirely sure where the mayor had got all of it from (his storerooms seemed to have no end) but I had a feeling the mages were involved somehow.

The events of the morning were a little hectic . . .

_Somehow, breakfast didn't seem like breakfast._

_ Maybe that was because we weren't at the table. Maybe it was because we weren't eating. Maybe it was because we were all standing in the mayor's office, arguing about how we were going to get the supplies to the goblins._

_ Maybe all of the above._

_ "We're just going to have to go into the tunnels and give the supplies to them," I interrupted, holding out a hand to stop the inevitable uproar. "And no swordsmen, just me. They don't have a reason to trust any of the swordsmen, but they know I'm just as anti-corruption as them."_

_ "If you're going then I'm going," the Guide announced, crossing his arms stubbornly._

_ "So much for the plan," the mayor sighed, giving up with a shrug._

_ "One of my mages has to go with you," argued the lanky robe-clad man standing by the mayor's desk. "I'll ask for volunteers."_

_ "Why a mage?" I asked. "Won't that just make them suspicious?"_

_ "All of them are trained in healing your basic wounds with magic," he answered, raising his head slightly as if to affirm his superiority. "And they can use bandages and potions as well as any nurse."_

_ "If a mage is coming, then I'm coming," interrupted the Goblin Tinkerer, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I'm one of them, even if they kicked me out."_

_ And so, after far more paperwork and arguing than I would've considered necessary, we found ourselves dragging a bag out of the reception. Someone was waiting for us with the leader of the mages, wearing the loose blue robes of a mage, clashing violently with her bright pink hair. She was leaning back nonchalantly on the mayor's desk in the reception, looking around with the air of someone who is impressed and bored at the same time._

_ "This is Abigail," introduced the older mage, gesturing towards her as if he didn't want to touch her. "She volunteered. She's hardly our most experienced mage, but she'll have to do."_

_ "Well, thank you very much," said the young woman, making a face._

_ "We've met," I said with a small smile, unsure how to react. She took the liberty of coming forward and shaking my hand, with a smirk that doubled the size of my smile._

_ And was it me, or was the Tinkerer actually blushing a slightly darker green?_

I resurfaced from the flood of memories momentarily, forcing myself to focus on the matter at hand. Because we didn't want to cause a scene by going into the church, we went round through the school instead.

I didn't really see the point of that – seeing a girl, a guide, a goblin and a mage dragging a bag that smelled of raw meat through the village square attracted a fair amount of attention as well.

I wondered where Sarita was. She'd probably be in bed after the long night. After all, the sun was barely up.

_No rest for the wicked,_ I thought with a grin.

"You should be glad that the dagger was there," whispered the Tinkerer, and I turned to him with a frown.

"How d'you mean?"

"In the nursery rhyme. It was an old custom of ours. If we stole a baby or a young child, we'd leave a dagger behind. So that the family could defend themselves if we came back for more."

"You mean you only stole one child from a family?" called the Guide, his lust for knowledge overwhelming him.

"Yes, so that the groups didn't die out. We only ever killed adults in battle."

I frowned. It made a sick kind of sense, but I almost didn't want it to. I never understood the goblin obsession with eating babies. Gold was one thing I could understand, but babies? Nuh-uh.

That nursery rhyme shook me a bit. It almost eerily reminded me of Sarita's family. Little Kirsty would be Amethyst, the sister would be Sarita, and the mother Christina. If it was the mother that was getting married and not the sister, it would've freaked me out.

Amethyst was still just a newborn. The corruption had surrounded the village throughout her existence.

She didn't know what it was like to be in open country, with long grass around her, staring up at the clouds.

She'd never seen bunnies hopping through the trees, running away from anything that moved.

The village with death around it was the only life she'd ever known.

_I'm sure as Hell gonna fix that._

"Is there much longer to go?" asked Abigail, her grey eyes focused on the tunnels ahead.

"What is it with these tunnels?" I asked of no one in particular, ignoring the question. "When the Guide went through them he started whinging, and now you're doing it too."

"Mages don't _whinge_," she corrected me. "But seriously, they do go on for ages. Exactly how long did it take to build these?"

"Quite a while," shrugged the Tinkerer. "I spent most of that time watching the humans, so I could learn their language and their ways. It all started with the glasses, I suppose."

Abigail and I smiled . . .

_. . . and there goes that blushing again._

Surely it isn't just me. Could it be just me? I don't think it's just me. But I don't think it's her. Is it the Guide? What? No. It's me. But not just me.

What does that mean, anyway?

Just me. But it'd have to be him as well. Who is it? And I'm not _just_ me, anyway. I'm a Hero, as self-obsessed and megalomaniacal that sounds.

How do I even know that word, anyway? Megalomaniacal?

Didn't the Guide say that once?

Shaking off my inner ramblings, I decided to start a conversation in the eerily quiet tunnels that I had already mentally labelled 'the Whinging Tunnels'.

"So, Abigail . . ." I started. "Tell us about yourself."

She raised her eyebrows at me. "Tell me about you first."

"Not until you tell me about you."

"I won't tell you about me until you tell me about you."

"I won't tell you about me until you tell me about you after you tell me about you."

"I won't tell you about me until you tell me about you after I tell you about me."

". . . Exactly. So tell me about you, before I get a headache."

She thought it over for a second, realising what she had just said, and then shrugged. "Okay, then. I'm the youngest mage in the village – or at least I am now. I didn't used to be. But I am now. Or maybe I'm not. I don't know. But anyway, my dad's a blacksmith and my mum was a nurse. So really, I shouldn't have been anything special. Except I was. I don't know why. Maybe it's the name – it's kind of a mage thing. Still don't know why."

"Can you stop telling me what you don't know and concentrate on what you do know?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

"Right, good plan. Better than my usual plans. Anyway. So. Sorry. Yes." She paused for a second, taking a breath and half-closing one eye, like she was trying to remember what she was talking about. "I'm rambling a bit now, aren't I?"

I nodded slowly. "More than the Guide."

"Hey!" came the muffled retort.

"Why do you think I'm rambling?" she asked, honestly sounding curious. "Do you think I'm claustrophobic?"

"What?" I asked, getting tired.

"Fear of closed spaces!" shouted the Guide.

"Yeah, that's it," agreed Abigail. "I think I used to be, when I was a kid. It wasn't the monster under the bed, it was the monster in the walls."

"I had the monster in the shadows," I murmured.

"Ah, I getcha. But I think I'll stop talking, because I'm just going to ramble."

"Probably for the best. I'll ask you later."

"Thank you," she sighed. "But now you have to tell me something about you."

I blinked. "Well, I guess. Should I really? I will later."

"Hey, just 'cause I can't talk doesn't mean I can't listen," she argued. "So go on then, where's Terraria? Where are you from?"

I stared at her for a moment, lips parted, thinking.

. . . No. No, I shouldn't tell her before the mayor says I can.

She seemed to understand my hesitation, and turned away with a small roll of her eyes.

"You'll have to wait until speechy-speech time," I explained, catching her gaze again.

"Yay, my favourite time of the week," she replied sarcastically.

We looked at each other with knowing grins, and I thought I understood her for the first time.

"We must be close by now," called the Guide from behind us, grunting with every step. "How long to go?"

"Just a little while," replied the Tinkerer, peering ahead. "In fact I think–"

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Ssh!" I ordered the Tinkerer.

He stopped dead. We all stopped dead. Even the Guide stopped dead. And I think if I had a beating heart, it would've frozen.

There was someone ahead, I could feel it. I think the others could too, but maybe it was just the hunter instincts that time had given me.

"Hello?" I called cautiously to the darkness ahead.

Abigail held up her torch, and for a second I thought she caught a glint of something.

". . . Who's there?" called a gruff voice after a worrying delay.

"Supplies," I answered. "I promised to bring them, and now they're here."

"You're tha' woman?" he asked, sounding slightly surprised. "The one tha' stopped the chief?"

"That's me. I'm also Zelda68. Or the Hero. Or Get-Outta-My-Store. Although technically that's not a name, I just get called it a lot." The Guide gave me a small don't-be-so-cocky nudge, and I nudged him back.

"'O are you with?" demanded the voice, suddenly with an edge.

"The Guide, a mage, and the Goblin Tinkerer."

"The _Tinkerer_?" asked the voice, spitting the word like a vile insult. "'E's not welcome 'ere. We abandoned 'im for a reason."

"I'm sure you did, but he's here to help you. And so are we. Can we pass?"

The voice said nothing for a moment, but then grunted affirmatively. I heard the sound of a bowstring being slowly let go, and an arrow sliding into a quiver. A goblin archer stepped out of the shadows, brandishing a limp and a bruise on the face like they were trophies. He put his bow over his shoulder and gestured for us to follow him.

The first thing that I noticed was the smell, and then the flickering red on the cavern walls. There was a fire ahead, and the smoke was terrible. I didn't cough, of course, but the others started to. Our strange guide seemed unaffected, as did the Tinkerer. Soon we could see the large cavern where we had found our goblin bound and gagged, except this time it was red.

I kept my eyes fixed ahead, watching the light of the fire flicker on the archer. Even though his leg was bad, he was determined to stay one step ahead of me. But when I saw what was inside the cavern, the only thing that mattered was that.

I'll never forget what I saw. A huge pile of broken, twisted and bleeding goblin bodies, all set alight in a massive fire without timber or oil. I could see their features dissolving, the flesh burning and peeling off, while their clothes set a fire in their middles. The warriors which would've been wearing armour were stripped to the fabric beneath, and their massive muscles were all but gone. All of the dead goblins were on fire, all of them.

Kneeling in front of this hellish spectacle were the living, the young and the wounded, all chanting in a low and rhythmic way. The smoke and the flames didn't touch them, but it went over their heads and disappeared into the corridors. It seemed to dissipate before it should've. The chant was getting louder and louder as they all joined in, singing the same words which weren't in our language, while they watched their dead fellows burn. Their elbows were on their knees, their hands clasped and their eyes closed, as if in prayer to whatever gods they worshipped.

I took a step forward, my mingled curiosity and horror getting the best of me, but the archer held out his arm to stop me. I looked into his glowing yellow eyes reflecting the fire, and I knew that I had better not take another step. I looked at the others – Abigail was standing a few steps behind me, with her mouth open and eyes wide, but she seemed to be looking at the living rather than the dead. The Guide had a similar expression, but he was staring at the pile of burning bodies, watching the flesh melt off and mingle in ways that _just wasn't right_. The Tinkerer, on the other hand, stepped up to the archer, took off his glasses and closed his eyes, joining in on the chant. Soon the archer did the same, dropping to his knees and letting his gruff voice join the disturbing chorus.

To top off this scene, like the crowning glory of a nightmare, was the goblin chief. His body was tied to a wooden post which was somehow impervious to the fire, almost like he was alive when the bonfire started. I knew better, of course (I was the one that gave the order to shoot him down after all), but seeing his massive form turning into ashes still made me feel uneasy.

_It shouldn't_, I reminded myself. _It's just like going to church for these guys_.

And, to tell the truth, my stomach was more settled to burning flesh than to the sickeningly perfect building somewhere above me.

I've seen a bit too much of it in my time.

Quicker than should've been possible, all that was left of the burning was a pile of bones and ashes, together with a single flame that somehow remained alight. Then one of the goblins, with a few barbaric trinkets on a necklace and a ceremonial-looking dagger hanging from his belt, stepped into the middle of the pile. The other goblins all raised their heads to look at him, like the villagers would the mayor.

"Today we honour our misguided brothers," he said in a commanding voice which resonated on the stone walls around him, "and hope their souls safely find the path to the Way After. We also pay tribute to our alliance with the humans, and hope that it will bring them peace." He raised the dagger, holding it like a sword. "Death to the corruption!"

All of the goblins raised their weapons and cried their approval.

"Death to our enemies!"

Another cry.

"Long live the goblins, together with the humans stronger than ever!"

I found myself joining in, realising how supportive the goblin was being.

The goblin took a bottle out of a small pouch on his belt, and stepped towards the solitary flame. Then he dropped to his knees, somehow scooping it into the bottle. The glass didn't melt, but the flame turned an unnatural gold. He held the bottle aloft, and the goblins cheered. Then he tucked it onto the belt slung from his left shoulder to his right hip, and started walking towards us as the gathering dispersed.

"You must be Zelda68," he said, holding out his hand in greeting. "I'm the new Speaker of the goblins."

I got a proper look at him. He had sickly green skin, tattered clothes, a large ring through his nose, multiple piercings along his ears, and a massive gash in his side. He was the size of a warrior, but he didn't seem strong enough.

"Nice to meet you," I said with a grin that I think was a little too wide. "We've got the supplies, like I promised."

"Food and water?" he asked, eyeing the bundle next to the Guide.

"And bandages with potions. Abigail here–" I gestured to the mage a few steps behind me "–can treat your wounds. This is the Guide, and I think you know the Tinkerer."

"Yes," he answered uneasily. "He isn't welcome here. He'll leave now."

The Tinkerer whimpered and bowed, turning to leave, but I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in front of me like a shield.

"He's staying," I said firmly. "He came here because he wants to help."

"Don't do this," the Guide whispered into my ear. "Be respectful. _Please_."

"He's one of you," Abigail said with a frown, obviously not understanding the Speaker's resentment.

"He stopped being one of us as soon as he started being the Tinkerer," said the Speaker, crossing his arms and glaring at the runt. "His little inventions have caused us havoc in the past. You wouldn't believe it. We left him, and we're not taking him back."

"Look, I know you had your reasons," I said clearly, "but you need help."

"Reasons?" the Speaker suddenly spat, an evil grin twisting his scarred face. "No, I don't think you understand at all."

"Well, I'm the Hero, and he's the Tinkerer. _My_ Tinkerer. And he's more than just that." I pushed the Tinkerer further another step, and he shrivelled under the Speaker's gaze. "May I introduce you to the Ambassador of the goblins?"

I could see the Guide frantically gesturing for me to stop out of the corner of my eye, but it was too late. The Tinkerer stared at me with his jaw dropped like I had just sprouted a demon's wings, and the Speaker fell silent. He stared at the Tinkerer with a face that conveyed less emotion than a piece of stone for more than five seconds. I couldn't help but eye up his dagger, and subconsciously moved one hand towards a hunting knife around my waist.

Oh, God. How did I end up in this situation? Goblin with a knife in front of me, Tinkerer like a human (well, goblin) shield, mage and Guide without a gun behind me, warriors and peons on all sides . . .

Not that I regret what I said, of course.

Nobody says things like that to my friends, no matter how important they are.

Suddenly the moment was broken, but not the way I expected it to be. The Speaker started laughing. Short, barking laughs that spoke of rowdy younger years and a good sense of humour. Then he slapped me roughly on the shoulder, and looked me in the eye.

"I like you," he announced, a lopsided grin twisting his face. "You get what you want, and you stick up for your clan. I wish there were more people like you in this army."

"Thanks," I replied with a grin, immediately relaxing into my grin with too many teeth again.

Without another word, the Speaker went over to the bundle of supplies and started taking things out. He walked around, giving bandages to the wounded, food to the hungry, potions to the sick and water to practically everyone while we watched. Once he was done he looked at Abigail and jerked his head towards a crippled goblin huddling against a wall, and she set to work straight away.

It was interesting to watch Abigail work. She didn't just use potions and bandages like a nurse, but combined her natural magic with the medicine. I watched her for a while, mesmerised, while she ran from one goblin to another and helped them out.

There really weren't that many left, compared to what they started out with. There were about fifty of them, and half were injured. Practically everyone had cuts and bruises, and I couldn't help but recognise a couple of wounds that I had inflicted. Well, more than a couple. About ten of them were injured by me in that bloody battle, and I don't know how many died. No corpses. I suppose it would be more than twenty, maybe even thirty. And on top of that, all the bullet-ridden corpses which tried to attack the Guide – because that was all he did, he didn't kill mercilessly, he just fought back. He's a guide, he wasn't meant to hold a gun.

Why did he want to so badly? Why did a guide have to be a hero?

I started walking around the cavern, handing around supplies like the Speaker. The Guide and Tinkerer had already started, and I couldn't help but smile at the Tinkerer, who was trotting after Abigail while desperately trying to look busy.

Nope, it wasn't just me. It was just him, and I had noticed.

I heard a gruff grunt behind me, and looked to see an armoured warrior slumped against a wall. One of his legs was on top of the other, revealing a bad stab-wound to me. I blinked and instinctively tried to take a breath – he was the warrior who had tried to kill Felix. To his side another warrior had a hand on his shoulder, as if trying to help. He was the one that had kicked me in the stomach and left me to the kicks of the others. They must've been friends.

Despite everything I knew was right and everything I promised, I avoided looking them in the eye while I walked up to them, even though I could feel their eyes fixed on me. I dropped to my knees (hardly necessary given their size) and unwound the bandage in my hand, giving a potion to the wounded goblin.

I tied the bandage around his leg carefully, observing it. Felix was certainly good with a knife. Could he be just as good at throwing them? Arrows weren't his strong point, but maybe I'd just found another one.

The friend of the downed warrior frowned at me, pointing a pudgy finger right in my face.

"You gave tha' swordsman the knife," he stated.

". . . Yes," I replied simply.

"The knife tha' 'e got stabbed with."

"I had to. You two were going to kill him."

"Yeah," agreed the goblin, turning to frown at the memory instead of me.

"But that's not your fault," I insisted, continuing with the bandage. "And the chief is dead now."

He turned to look at me again, an equal mix of surprised and confused. "You killed 'im."

"The archers killed him, I just gave the order."

"But not many people can do tha'. Give them orders. You're the first _human_ tha' did tha'."

"Well, yeah."

"I kicked you," he started again.

"Yes. You did. Really _very_ hard."

"But tha' Guide guy helped you up."

"Mm-hmm."

"Can I see the bruise?"

I blinked. The bruise on my _chest_? "Not right now," I said hurriedly.

The injured goblin laughed hoarsely, putting down the empty potion bottle. "He didn't mean like tha'," he informed me, watching as I tied the bandage around his wound. "He always says stuff that sounds like tha', but it's not wha' he means for it to be like."

I smiled slightly sheepishly. With one final tug and a wince of pain from the goblin, the bandage was done.

"That'll be enough until Abigail gets around to you," I informed him, standing up. I turned to walk away, but the uninjured goblin stopped me with a tug of my wrist.

"Sorry," he said.

"What for?"

"Kicking you."

"Oh, don't worry. All that's in the past. And . . ." I turned to the other goblin. "Sorry for stabbing you, I guess." The goblin gave a thankful grunt and looked down at his bandage.

"By the way," said the uninjured goblin, "I'm Norl. Tha's Nort."

"Nice to meet you."

When I walked to the next goblin, I was considerably more at ease.

Things were going well.

** X X X**

** Have at thee, writer's block!**

** Apologies for the short chapter and ages since the last update (almost half a year. God, what have I been doing?!). I was going to release this chapter together with the next one, but I haven't finished the next one off yet and so many people are leaving reviews that I felt obliged to put this up.**

** If anyone has any ideas about stuff (in general), let me know.**

** Thanks for reading, and thanks for your reviews! **


	31. Religion and Stuff

"I can't go to the doctor," I decided over lunch, waiting for the onslaught which would follow.

"Why not?" demanded the mayor.

"You have to!" cried the Guide.

"What about your hand?" asked the Tinkerer.

"You really should go," Felix insisted.

"But I can't!" I cried back, ignoring the faces, ranging from concerned to furious, that were all fixed intently on me. I let out a groan as they all remained trained on me, searching for the words to convey the conclusions that I had reached the previous night. "Okay . . . what if, for example, the doctor decided to check my pulse?"

. . . Instant silence.

Good. I don't want to say anything else.

"Why would that matter?" came a voice that I didn't know as well as the others. I raised my head slowly to face the Goblin Tinkerer, his small, glowing eyes fixed on me in a curious frown. I looked back at my breakfast, suddenly unwilling to eat it.

". . . I'll tell you later." I decided, knowing that just walking out in the middle of lunch would cause a scene.

Seated around the table were a few of the other swordsmen, perhaps the ones who didn't have a family to go home to. There were no more than four of them, and as hard as I searched my memories I couldn't recall all of their names. They were neither particularly talented nor motivated, but they were still better than the average village citizen.

Unfortunately, if we're gonna make it through this, then the talent of both the swordsmen and the citizens is going to have to improve.

"You need to take a few potions though," The Guide determined. "And a day or two of rest. Give yourself some time."

"Time that we don't have?" I asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Well, what would you rather do?" he demanded. "If you're gonna fix yourself up its going to take more than just a lie down."

Tilting my head to the side at him I put my elbow on the table and pointed my arm upward, rolling away my sleeve to reveal a band of regeneration clasped around my arm. The red heart on the band glowed a bright red, signifying that it was working its magic on everything which needed healing. The Guide's mouth opened into a perfect 'o', and then fell into a glare.

"Those things are unreliable!" he cried. "If you move about too much then it can heal things wrong! You should know that!"

"That's superstitious rubbish." I declared, rolling my sleeve down again. "Never happened to me, and you know how often I've needed one."

Letting out an irritated groan, the Guide resorted to making a face at his toast, and I took a satisfied bite out of mine.

"If we let you have your way," the mayor began, drawing my gaze towards him, "then you have to take at least five potions today." As I opened my mouth to complain he raised a finger in protest, interrupting my sudden stream of half-thought-out protests. "And I'm making them."

"But –"

"No."

Something about the calm resoluteness in which he said that made me droop in my chair, the Guide throwing a self-satisfied smirk at me. I made a face at him and turned back to my breakfast, more aware than ever of the band that was clasped on my arm.

"What did you do to your hand, anyway?" asked the Goblin Tinkerer, playing around with his porridge. He made a face at his meal. "And what is this stuff?"

"Porridge." Felix explained, placing his mug down on the table. "Cooked oats and milk."

"It looks like the stuff that the goblins made me eat if they couldn't get their hands on any meat." He announced, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his pointed nose from the precarious position which they had been in.

"Well, I'd be willing to bet that it tastes better." Felix replied with a good-natured smile which then creased into a frown. "Or, at least, I would hope so."

I returned his smile, silently praying that the topic of conversation wouldn't be taken back to the Tinkerer's original question. Felix seemed to be getting on well enough with the Tinkerer, despite the fact that he had initially resented his presence as a goblin. I hoped that he was really getting on with him, rather than just doing it for my sake.

If they were really getting along, then the first friendship between humans and goblins might become a reality.

After that, anything would be possible to achieve.

Of course, the Tinkerer and I seemed to be getting on well enough, but it was duty rather than friendship which had brought us together, and I had a sinking feeling that it was to remain that way between us. Perhaps once he got used to life in the village it might be possible for us to form a genuine friendship and properly get to know each other, rather than being forced to accept the presence of the other in dire circumstances.

After all, I considered all of the people who had been sent to help me by fate to be my good friends, if not my family. There might well be room for one more in the strange household which we had formed back in Terraria . . .

. . . And it's about time a goblin joined in, really! We've got practically everything else already . . .

Norl and Nort are perfect candidates. I mean, the Tinkerer aside, they've already started adapting to us. Because that's what these goblins _do_ – adapt. It's what they've had to do, and it's what they're gonna keep doing.

"Training today?" asked one of the bronze-clad swordsmen at the far end of the table, interrupting my train of thought.

"Oh, yeah," I agreed with a nod. "About time too! Haven't had one since . . ."

"Three days ago," The Guide finished for me, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge.

"Has it really only been three days?" I demanded, my eyebrows sky-rocketing off my forehead. The Guide nodded slowly, his gaze on the wall as if he were making sure.

He was right.

Three days . . .

Three days since I the swordsmen had riddled a devourer with arrows and Sarita had led me to the items which I had lost. I had spent the rest of that day constructing a ladder to the floating island, and the next morning had ventured up it with the mayor. Then came the paper planes, and then the demon had contacted me for the first time in my sleep in the form of one of the corrupted nightmares which had previously dogged me in Terraria. The morning after that I had jumped back down to the village, gone and faced my demons in the library, fainted twice, and then the whole thing with the goblins happened.

Not that any of it was as neat as that.

"Wow . . ." I realised, sinking my head into my hands. "It feels like weeks . . ."

"It might as well be, given the amount that's happened," laughed the mayor.

"Er – what _has_ happened?" the Tinkerer interrupted. "I'm out of the loop here."

"I'll tell you everything later," I mumbled, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "I assure you that it was all very dramatic and depressing and everything else inherent in being Hero."

"I haven't had the time to carve it all up yet," the mayor interrupted, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "PAPERWORK, remember? You gave me a hell of a lot more to do yesterday anyway."

"What? You did?" asked the Guide, confused. "How? Why? Is it to do with all those designs you were sketching?" My head snapped upwards and I faced the Guide with wide eyes.

"How do you know I was sketching designs?!" I demanded, panic oozing into my voice at what might have been a disturbing invasion of my privacy.

"Your pen was practically tearing through the paper," he replied calmly in a bored tone. "Besides, where'd you think that blanket came from anyway?"

"You were in my room?!" I screamed, my voice so loud it was almost silent. I jumped up from the table and pointed an accusing finger at the Guide. "You put a blanket on me while I was asleep?! My God, you're a creepy _stalker_!"

"Oh, forgive me for being concerned after you'd lost consciousness twice in one day!" he shouted in response, leaning back in his chair.

"Twice?!" Came the mayor's questioning voice. "When was the first time? It wasn't your back, was it?"

"What's she done to her back?" the Tinkerer asked, hopelessly lost, but unable to break the glaring contest which had ensued between me and the Guide.

"A demon stabbed it," Felix explained calmly, placing a reassuring hand on the goblin's shoulder as his jaw dropped. "I know. She gets injured a lot."

"Your back _and_ your hand?" the goblin stammered.

"What? What's she done to her hand?" Felix's face riveted towards mine. "What have you done to your hand?" he asked, transfixed by the bandages hidden beneath my glove.

"Her hand?" came one of the swordsmen.

"Why? What?" asked another, hopelessly lost.

"What have you done to your hand?" the mayor demanded. "I know that you hurt it, but how? How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," the goblin answered, nodding to himself.

"What? You know?" the mayor asked.

"How did you manage to do that to it?" the Guide asked, frowning, his eyes still fixed on mine.

"Do what?" the mayor cried desperately.

"Is your hand okay?" asked one of the swordsmen innocently.

"You need to sort out your ribs and lungs as well, don't forget," Felix said softly, having been there when Abigail had made her diagnosis.

"Lungs? What?" asked the Guide, his glare now a concerned frown that was seeped through with annoyance.

I closed my eyes, doing my best to ignore the sudden choir of voices, all of which seemed to be directed against me. I knew that the Guide's gaze had gone from annoyed to concerned, and felt sure that in a moment he would ask if I was alright. The mayor was no doubt ready to march right up to me and rip off the bandages, exposing my bare wound. The Goblin Tinkerer would probably take himself on a long walk down the corridor to update his uninformed perspective. Felix might take a moment to collect himself before speaking to me about how it is important, for the survival of his friends and family as well as mine, for me to tell anybody if I managed to get myself hurt.

All of them would do something, in some way, which they meant to do in my favour but which would make me cringe and sigh inside.

"I can sort it out myself, alright?!" I exploded, silencing the room. I raised my head and looked around, finding all of the eyes in the room transfixed on me. I sighed.

Something to do with being Hero means that every time you want people to look away they stare straight at you . . .

As much as I hate those flashbacks, I do sometimes wish they would overpower me in awkward situations like this.

But, I suppose, an Eater of Souls isn't about to hover out from under the table and attempt to rip the heads off everybody here, and that's probably what it would take to snap me out of this.

I can picture it . . . flying innards and the clearing of swords from sheaths and spinal cords being launched across the room. And I'd just sit there and close my eyes and wait for everything to finally be over . . . Although I suppose that's not really very likely.

Unfortunately . . .

And so I have to stay here, in this moment of mistaken judgements and reproachfully raised eyebrows and annoyingly piercing eyes staring out from underneath a shock of brown hair, and wait.

Until someone else speaks.

But the thing is, I think that everybody is waiting for me to speak.

_No more speeches . . ._ _PLEASE . . . That's no better than this silence . . ._

I'll just wait . . .

. . . Ugh . . .

God, I can't stand this anymore! I'm just gonna open my mouth and let words come out that hopefully won't be too emotional or excruciating.

". . . Okay," I began slowly, watching as people's eyes narrowed and widened. "Sorry for shouting."

"_Shrieking_," The Guide corrected with the perfect timing, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow in a way which demanded an explanation.

"Exploding," The mayor chimed in.

"Squealing," Joined in the Tinkerer.

"Squawking," Agreed Felix.

"I don't _squawk_." I corrected him in the same manner as the Guide. "And that awkward silence actually led me to believe that you wanted me to speak."

"What we want is for you to agree with us that you need to go to the doctor," the mayor replied simply, "because it seems you've accumulated more injuries than all of us have been fully able to realise."

"Not to mention mental strains," The Guide agreed, hovering over my shoulder like some sort of demented meteor head.

"How many?" the mayor asked with a frown, as if to make sure that he was at least on top of that.

"Look, you don't have to worry about me," I said firmly. "I'm the Hero, the stress-ball of evil, but I always bounce back."

"Alright, fine," breathed the mayor. "Just as long as in the future you actually _tell_ us when you've been injured."

"Deal," I agreed, holding my hands up in surrender.

Before I could react, the Guide had snatched off my band of regeneration. I cursed at him and spun around, but he was already running for the door, me soon hot on his heels.

"And go to the doctor as well, later," the mayor finished, stopping me in my tracks. I paused for a moment and sighed – it was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask.

"Just as long as my blood pressure doesn't matter," I joked sarcastically, heading towards the Guide, who was leaning up against the doorframe.

I reached for the band of regeneration in his hands, and he held it behind him. I glared at him and leaned forward, but he held it just outside of my reach. Tired of his childish attempt to help me (by stealing the thing that _could_) I simply raised an eyebrow and gave him a small (by my standards, that is) punch on the top of his head.

"Ow!" he whinged, rubbing his head and straightening up his hair.

But I was already gone, down the corridor and towards the doctor. I was at the door when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to see a swordsmen standing with a finger raised shyly, as if worried that I would punch him as well. He had a sling on one arm – not his sword arm, thankfully – from the battle with the goblins.

"Um, sorry, but nobody's supposed to know you're a hero, right?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, it's just . . . maybe you shouldn't go to the doctor's like that."

I realised what he meant – without even thinking, I had taken all of my weapons with me to lunch. It only occurred to me then how strange that was, it all seemed so natural to me.

"Ah," I agreed, "thank you." The swordsman nodded, smiling, and walked back down the corridor.

What was his name? I couldn't remember. Had he even told me?

As a unit, the swordsmen were a force to be reckoned with – both in terms of strength and sarcasm. But alone, they were more innocent and naïve, and their jokes just didn't have that bite to them that they would with heavily armed friends at their backs.

I began to take off my weapons, carelessly placing them against the wall of the mayor's reception. It wasn't like anyone was going to steal them, so I didn't see the point of hiding them. There was my sword, my bow and quiver full of arrows, my pickaxe, my axe, my daggers, knives and finally the belt around my shoulder with its sheaths and grenade holders. I felt strangely bare without my weapons, like a girl without a sword to hide behind. I didn't feel like me. I played with the idea of going and buying a suit of armour, but that would be more of a tell-tale sign of heroism than a sword. I did my best to straighten out my back, slightly bent from the sword always hanging off it, and I rolled down my sleeves as far as I could to hide the un-womanly muscles that had developed there.

Before going out of the door, I stopped to look more closely at the mayor's carvings. The ones in the reception didn't have me in them at all – they were for public display. There were soldiers, preparing for battle, standing on the front line. But instead of looking resolute and determined, they seemed frightened and small.

_That's the truth about war_, I thought. _You have to stay scared if you want to live. If you're not, then you're an overconfident moron and you're going to die_.

But then again, had I ever been in a real war? I'd been in battles. Against goblins and Eaters of Worlds, against Skeletron, and even smaller ones with meteor heads and simple zombies. But those battles were all part of a greater design, and they all prepared me for the battle with the Eye. I shivered at the thought.

I had led a war against the corruption.

And I would again.

But these people in the carvings . . . they had no choice. They weren't born to be soldiers, or swordsmen, or heroes. But that was what the world wanted them to be. That was what they were needed to be.

I was born with a pickaxe in my hands, but these men (some of them weren't even that) were fighting because they had to.

_But did they?_

What were they fighting against? Was the carving of one of the battles of the hill, where the believers drove out the others? That certainly wasn't necessary, but there was one practically every century. Maybe it was a battle with the goblins, and that was why the soldiers looked so uncertain.

In a way, I envied the mayor. I didn't envy his paperwork, or the way that the people in the village are too scared even to speak to him, but I envy his abilities, his powers. What should I call them? His visions, I suppose. He had said that he had been made mayor because of them, because he saw what other people didn't see. When he thought about things, he saw the details, that was what he had said.

But, I suppose, that can't be all good. Maybe you can know too much. He would be able to see all of the tragedies that the village had suffered, and feel every wound that I had sustained. And on top of that, he had the future of the village on his back, even if he had left defending it to me. And, for some bizarre reason, practically everything he did would require a form which would have to be signed, re-signed, witnessed by his secretary and God-knows-what. Everything that happened in the village ran past him, and all of it meant that a form had to be signed for some reason.

I ran my fingers along the grooves of the carving, almost to convince myself that it was a carving and not a painting. The details were so fine that it almost surprised me. The only thing that convinced me otherwise except for the feeling of the fine grooves beneath my hand was the fact that it was the colour of stone. The mayor really did a fine job of his carvings – he managed to put emotion and movement into them, like he had captured a moment in time and put it on a wall. You could almost feel like the people felt – scared, or happy, or sad. The soldier closest to me seemed terrified of what was to come – unknowing of how powerful his enemies would be, and unwilling to fight his kin. Unless they were goblins – then the picture took on an entirely new meaning, because he would know all about his rivals, how powerful they were, and that would be the thing which terrified him.

Distracted, I began walking around the room and looking at the carvings. I had never paid proper attention to them before, and now they entranced and enraptured me with their beauty and stories to tell. Soldiers on the battlefield, blacksmiths forging swords and men sparring all told of war and battles. But for peace there were children playing, happy couples and the village's God smiling at me. Of all of these pictures, the only one which seemed false was the God. He seemed too perfect, too serene to be real. There was no emotion other than calmness in his eyes, and no will other than greeting in his manner.

I knew from experience that someone like that could never, and would never exist. Everyone has their quirks, their troubles, their worries. It is those things that make us human. But God seemed rigid and motionless, with no personality or feelings.

It was just too good to be true.

Maybe that it why these people worship a God like this. Turn to him when they should fight for themselves. Because He (note the capital 'H') is perfect, and never has any troubles. Maybe they like to believe that someone like that really could exist, that not everyone is imperfect.

I suppose that it is just the tough life that I live that stops me from believing too.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should leave these people be, if they think that's right. Maybe that should keep their beliefs.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

But if I do that, then they'll die screaming that their God has betrayed them.

. . . But what if He is _real_?

The thought had never even crossed my mind before.

What if their religion isn't as ridiculous as it seems? What if there is truth in their teachings? They've been around so much longer than me, centuries – maybe even millennia – before Terraria even existed. They have a history, and from that history they divined a religion. What if the stories, though maybe warped by the passage of time, come from some great truth?

Maybe that truth is in the serenity in their God's eyes. Maybe they worship the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge, the acceptance before the sword strikes home.

But now the storm, the water, the knife – they're all here. The demons are here. The corruption is here.

So what should I do?

Should I let these people abandon their inner peace and lose everything that they are by picking up weapons, or should I leave them to die screaming, but with their culture intact?

Surely there's got to be some way for those things to coexist!

I banged my head against the carving and embraced the pain in my back at the sudden movement.

Am I really the one who makes that decision?

I stood there for a moment muttering "Why me? For God's sake, why me?" when I heard footsteps and stopped, cringing, as I heard someone shift their weight from one foot to the other.

"In one of your philosophical moods, huh?" asked a voice I'd known longer than any other.

I turned to the Guide to see him with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, looking at me with a strange mix of concern and annoyance.

"Hitting you on the head will usually do that to me," I answered simply, turning away from the carving, the Guide making a face in return.

I turned away from him (no capital 'H' there, thank you!) and lazily took a glance at the other carvings. I could start something like that from every one of them. The Guide took a glance at me which clearly read "Go on . . ." so I took a breath.

_Hang on – I'm _reading_ glances now? My God, he's turning me into another him!_

"I've been thinking," I said simply, unwilling to elaborate.

"Only natural," he replied with a smirk, "I think sometimes. Well, lots of times. More than you." I didn't respond with the sarcasm which I would usually display. "So, what have you been thinking _about_?"

"Stuff!" I answered truthfully in what was almost a cry for help. "Thinking about stuff. Religion and stuff."

"Religion and stuff?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Don't make me say it again." I replied with an exasperated glare. "I was just wondering . . . if we're doing the right thing here. Making these people abandon their religion. I mean, it's not like I can't see what they do in the Big Guy." I jerked a thumb towards the carving of the village's God.

"And what do you see in Him?" asked the Guide, stepping forward.

I wondered if he'd put a capital 'H' in his mind or not.

"Well, He seems so calm," I answered simply. "Calmer than anybody ever could be. Calmer than I could be if I spent my life on a peaceful island. In a shrine. Meditating. With chocolate."

"Well, that's kind of why these people worship him. Or made him up, either way. Because we all want what we can't have." I blinked at him, unsure what he meant. "Everybody wants something. You want peace, which is only natural, because you're the Hero, and it's your job to get it, but it costs you too much along the way. So you look at him, and you see peace in his eyes. Christina wants . . . well, who knows, but she sees it in him. And I . . . I wanna be a hero, because I'm the runner-up."

"That's a lie," I said quietly.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, blushing. "I can't really see this guy with a sword. No. When I look at him, I see a man who has read every book ever written, and helped write them all too." I grinned foolishly at him. "I mean, think about it! If you believe in their religion, then he came up with everything. I mean, he came up with the language we're speaking right now. Every word of it was hand-crafted by him. Think how much wisdom that would take."

"Oh, I see. You see wisdom in him. Why might that be?" I laughed.

"Oi!" he laughed back. "But you see what I mean, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," I admitted. "I really do."

I paused, thinking over what he had said, and agreeing with it every step of the way.

"I suppose . . . good for the villagers," I said with a sad smile. "Must be nice to be able to believe in someone like Him."

The Guide frowned. "Hey, you're a hero," he said. "You don't need to be a philosopher as well."

"What good is a hero who isn't a philosopher?" I demanded. "I'd just be knocking stuff down whenever it got in my way. I'd be no better than the corruption."

"Which is why I'm here," he responded with a roll of his eyes. I blinked. "Oh, come on! Don't forget that I'm supposed to be your guide, not just your friend and encyclopaedia! Which is why I'm going into the corruption with you." He crossed his arms firmly, bracing himself.

"Oh, come on," I sighed. "We're not still arguing about that, are we?"

"Well, it did take you a day to give in." he said simply.

"Yes, a ludicrously emotional day with lots of crying and shouting. I don't wanna start that again now, not after the thing with the goblins and the bloody great big hole in my back."

"Fair enough, I guess," he admitted, smiling a guilty grin. "But since you're complaining about it then we should get a doctor to check it out."

I groaned, and he raised an eyebrow in that incredibly frustrating way of his that almost awoke very old arguments. Sometimes I wonder how it is that I understand his eyebrow semaphore so well. I even take to using it myself sometimes. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Or even worse, an awkward thing? I hate awkwardness, but it happens all too often. I mean, I'm 'the Hero'. That's my title, and in case it is in the realm of possibility that anybody could not realise this, it is a somewhat less humble title than 'the Guide'.

I started walking towards the door, the Guide beside me. He seemed a little uncomfortable and was giving me odd looks, and soon I was on the verge of asking him what was wrong, and as soon as that thought came it went and was replaced with the urge to shout it instead.

"What is it?" I demanded irritably, making him blink.

"What's what?" he asked, trying his best to sound naïve (as if he could ever manage _that_).

"You're looking at me like I've grown another head. Why?"

"Oh," he blushed slightly, frowning. "I guess . . . I'm just not used to seeing you without your weapons." I gave him an incredulous look and he gave me one in return. "Well, think about it! They've been accumulating for years, and they've always been there. But here you are, and they're over there, and you're not whinging or fidgeting or anything."

I cast a looked back at my weapons and suddenly realised how right he was.

I _really_ wanted to whinge.

"Are you sure you haven't?" he asked.

"Huh?" I asked, not looking away from my sword.

"Grown another head."

I looked at him and laughed, but he just sighed.

"I mean, seriously. You're all diplomatic in the morning, you explode over lunch and punch me on the head, and then you come in here and I find you thinking about _religion_ of all things, perfectly calm. And then I bring it up and you laugh, which I know is your way of shrugging things off when you don't really know what the hell's going on. Something's been up with you recently. What happened to the good old sarcastic, childish, insolent but occasionally perceptive, thoughtful and reflective Zelda68?"

He obviously didn't realise how much what he was saying meant to me. He was right, I wasn't acting like myself, and it was starting to worry me. Surely the corruption couldn't rid me of my personality as well? And here I am, thinking about this when he's right in front of me, looking worried! What's going on?

Is this new secret eating away at me like the old one?

It's like Zelda68 and the Hero are in conflict, and what's left behind is the strange person that I am right now. Angry and strong, but also childish and weak. Prone to Zelda68's mood swings, but amplified by the Hero's strong emotions. I'm some kind of hybrid at the moment, neither Hero nor child. Why can't I be either and not a mix?

Why can't I be both again?

Why can't I be the child hero, closing her eyes for the last time?

Why can't I be the girl running to the sunflowers, tears streaming down her face, her secret finally out in the open?

Why can't I be walking back to the mayor's, hand in hand with the Guide?

Why can't my life be fair?

And, most of all, why can't I make it fair?

Why can't I tell the Guide my secret?

. . . There is no answer to that question. That question isn't a question, it's like a statement directed right at my subconscious, desperately trying to tell it what I want. Or maybe a message from there, telling me what I need.

. . . But I can't. I can't tell him. The thing would stop me.

The demon-child-demon-child-corrupted-human-demon-ish-thing.

"First things first," I decided, shaking my head free of thought. "What _are_ we going to do about these goblins?"

The Guide blinked, slightly alarmed by the sudden change of topic. His look of bewilderment quickly settled into a frown (it never did seem to stay there for very long) and he raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you embraced any chance to talk about yourself," he cajoled, giving the hated smirk that I had been seeing less and less of. "Given how self-obsessed and egotistical you can be. I mean, your title is _the Hero_!"

"Oh, yeah," I said with a roll of my eyes, "like the Guide is so much better. But seriously, nobody even mentioned the goblins during lunch, even if we did go to see them."

"I guess we've had enough of them for a while," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "The last day felt like a week. But . . . listen, do you really mean to keep that agreement?"

I frowned at him, not understanding. "You mean to keep giving them food and water? Of course, it's only fair." He looked like he was going to argue, but I interrupted him sharply with "They're not monsters, Guide. Or at least, they're no more monsters than we are."

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender. "Yeah, I know, I just wanted to make sure that you meant what you said. I mean, it all happened so fast."

"Why wouldn't I mean it?" I demanded. "That doesn't sound like you. You're the guy that would never step on an ant."

"What did ants ever do to you?"

"They're not ants!"

"I never said they were."

"You did. Just there."

"No, you're the one who mentioned ants. Stop stepping on them."

"That makes no sense."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

I gave an exasperated sigh and shook my head, turning my most violent glare behind me as the Guide gave that annoying little laugh of his. Suddenly everything about him was irritating – from his slime-infested hair to his chocolate brown eyes to his . . .

"Mood swing," he pointed out. "Right there. For both of us."

"You're right," I admitted, sighing heavily. "But can you do me a favour, while we're not shouting at each other or crying?"

"Sure," he said, tossing his head to the side in a nonchalant and completely unnecessary way that did strange things to his hair (and which I could talk about for a strangely long amount of time), "so long as you take the potions the mayor gives you."

"Am I really that obvious?" I demanded with an annoyed frown.

"Yes, you really are. And you can't see Sarita, she's at school today."

"School? The day after a goblin attack?" I asked incredulously, disbelief oozing from my every syllable.

"The holidays are over, it's ten weeks until the next ones. Until then they go to school from Monday until Wednesday."

"Until what-now?" I asked, completely lost.

"The second day of the week until the fourth."

"Seven days in a week, right?" I asked, not bothering to omit my sarcasm.

"You should know this, for God's sake!" he cried back, exasperated so easily by my lack of knowledge. "You're the bloody _Hero_!"

"All I need to know is that the moon goes full twelve times, and then it's your birthday. That's all anyone really needs to know. That and how to use a sword."

The Guide made a frustrated noise and slapped his palm onto the middle of his face, reeling backwards from the supposed impact. "Can you go back to being philosophical again?"

"No," I replied simply, edging ever closer to my weapons. "But speaking of swords, I think it's time for some training."

An almost childish grin split his face quicker than a bullet, and he bolted upstairs to grab his gun. Even though my weapons had lain against the wall for just a few minutes, it still felt comforting to buckle my sword onto my belt and over my shoulder. It was like having an old friend by your side, ready to defend you whenever you needed it. Protection, even better than a shield.

It took about a minute to arrange all of my weapons, and I started lamenting that I had taken them off in the first place. I mean, that swordsman was right, but maybe attention was what I wanted. No, more than wanted, _needed_.

Publicity, applause, recognition, distraction . . . all of those things meant recruits. People willing not just to offer a show of hands, but to act on their decisions. People like the swordsmen – even the ones in clothes and not armour – who would protect their families.

And to do that, they will have to fight back. There's no two ways about it. I can't save this entire land on my own, not while my heart refuses to beat and my hand is like a piece of charcoal. Even with all my weapons it would be next to impossible.

Especially with a goddamn _demon_ on my back 24/7.

Not demon, child. Demon. Child. Demon.

The demon-child-demon-child-corrupted-human-demon-ish-thing.

The DCDCCHDIT.

Dusduckhadit.

Dusk Duck Had It.

What a cute nickname . . . Dusk Duck . . .

"You ready?" asked the Guide as he walked into the room, interrupting my reverie.

I paused as I turned to him, frowning thoughtfully. "Yeah," I answered slightly uncertainly.

"Into the corruption?" he asked, motioning outside with the butt of his rifle.

"Actually . . . no."

"What?" he demanded, crossing his arms as if preparing himself for a long argument.

"Well, I was thinking about something."

"That really shouldn't be so uncommon."

"Shut up. But I was thinking that I have so many weapons, and my favourite is the long-sword. Why?"

"Because you've been using it the longest, you spent so long working on it and you're the most talented with it."

". . . Yeah," I replied simply. "I wasn't really expecting you to answer that, but yeah."

"Don't ask a question in the same building as me if you don't expect it to be answered," he said in a matter-of-fact way.

"A lesson I have learned the hard way. But what I meant is that everyone has something they're particularly good at. All of the swordsmen have a preference, but I haven't really given them the chance to show me what that is. I mean, I get that Kilgan is rubbish with arrows, Felix is good with knives and Robert is a proper archer, but that's pretty much all I know."

"I see what you're getting at . . ." the Guide replied slowly. "And I think we're gonna need a hell of a lot of targets."


	32. Live Targets

"_**I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."**_** – Douglas Adams**

** X X X**

"Bullseye!" I cried.

And it was. It really was a bullseye. The knife had pierced the bright red heart in the centre of the target, only a few degrees away from a perfect angle. And those few stray degrees wouldn't matter in a life or death situation; all that mattered was that the thing you were fighting didn't get up again, whether that left it alive or not. Preferably dead.

Felix grinned and blushed, his skin threatening to match his hair. "Thanks," he returned with a charismatic smile as a few friends clapped him on the back.

The next one was just as good, and the one after that was even better. The forth one was slightly askew, but by then I was running out of words.

The Guide was sitting up on the seats around the arena that we would normally use for swordplay, without a book in sight. He tried to pass off his panic and frustration through flurried remarks to any passing swordsmen, but few of them replied, absorbed in their training.

"I need more words," I whispered to him, causing him to snap up his head immediately. "For when Felix hits the centre. I can't keep saying 'bullseye.'"

He paused for a moment, eyes fixed on something nobody except him could see, and then turned to me with a defiant expression.

"If you don't have any more words then check on the others," he advised me, instinctively looking into his lap despite the absence of a book. "You're spending too much time on Felix."

I nodded slowly, one eye narrowed. "You really had to think that through, huh?" I asked.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed, in which the Guide stared at his seat as if it were interesting and I waited for a reply – or better yet, an acceptance of defeat.

"I need a book!" he blurted out suddenly, giving up his air of fake nonchalance.

"You don't have to ask me for permission. Go."

He bolted out of the seats almost comically fast, half tripping over the seat next to his. I just sighed, giving him up as a lost cause, and turned to look on the work of the swordsmen.

The arena had been turned into a training ground, with targets littered all over the place. I almost wondered why the mayor had so many of them lying around, but he probably had them ready for an occasion such as this, as well as the ring itself. A very practical man. Many of the seats had been cleared away to make room for all of the activities we had set up while the Guide rounded up the swordsmen, and I was starting to understand them a bit better. I still couldn't remember all of their names, but that wasn't all that strange – my definition of "name" had changed quite a bit since I arrived in the village.

I was hardly one to admit that the setup was all a bit haphazard and dangerous; if I had two middle names, they would be the ones. Zelda68 Haphazard-Dangerous. Bit of a mouthful, but I could live with it. No better than Dusk Duck Had It, anyway.

Looking down at the duelling ring made me wince. No matter what I tried to forget it, I remembered the steely, dead look in Vincent's eyes. He was dead, but that echo, that imprint, would stay with me for a long time.

I had killed another human being. That was hard to accept. I was the Hero, the one that was supposed to save them. But Dusk Duck used him like a puppet, and there was no way for me to know what she was planning to do.

But no, no, I can't afford to think about it like that. It was no different from killing a zombie, even if there was a demon pulling his strings.

There had been that moment, though . . . when Felix had mentioned his wife, Gloria, his eyes had cleared for a second. Had he been aware of everything that happened to him? That was the worst thing I could imagine . . . used like a puppet, made to attack the person you wanted to serve, and conscious of every second of it. A prisoner in your own mind, locked and chained by thoughts and dreams.

I couldn't let that affect me, because then she would have the upper hand. But I couldn't help but remember it, because it did what she meant it to do – it showed me how powerful she was, and gave me more than a right to be afraid of her. She certainly didn't need to stab me in the back to get that point across.

I shivered as I tried to shake the thoughts from my mind. The way it felt when I stabbed a dagger into Vincent's leg – no different from a zombie. God, I had no idea how wrong I was.

And no idea how vulnerable we all are.

We didn't have any kind of defence from her, no armour, no weapons, no plan to fall back on.

We'll just have to brave it out until we're powerful enough to take her on.

"You okay?" asked a voice from behind me, making me jump.

I whirled around and took a step back, almost falling over the back of the row of chairs beneath me. The owner of the voice grabbed my shoulder and pulled me forwards again just in time, and my fear turned into embarrassment when I recognised the spiky silhouette.

"I'll take that as a no," he decided, clutching his book tightly.

"Shut up," I snarled immediately, stalking away with a face that would've been red if it wasn't deathly pale.

I got to the bottom row before I let my legs start shaking, and dropped into a chair. _I'm such an idiot!_ I reflected with a moan as I dropped my head into my hands. What kind of Hero needs to be saved by her guide?

I knocked myself in the head with my fists four times before I got up and walked away, sightly bewildered, as if nothing had happened. I don't think anyone noticed – all too absorbed in their own training – and I felt glad. When I glanced up the Guide's nose was already firmly buried in the pages of his book, and I tried my best to let out a shaky breath.

It didn't happen. But I tried.

Taking up one wall was the archery range. There were five targets stuck onto the wall, and a line of wooden arrows about three metres away, where the swordsmen were standing.

Robert was standing at the first target, and everything about what he was doing was correct. The arrow was at the right angle, he was in the right position, he had one eye closed to get a proper look down the arrow's shaft, and the bowstring was pulled just tight enough. When he let the arrow go, I didn't need to look back to know that he had been perfect. That was simply the kind of archer Robert was – _perfect_.

"Why are you so good?" I demanded of him with a frown which he returned with a shy smile.

"Ever since I was a kid," he began, pulling the arrow out of its target, "I wanted to be an archer. I practised and practised until my fingers were covered in blisters and my arm was almost skinned by the bowstring all day, every day. In the end I gave up school early to spend more time arching."

"But why?" I demanded.

"Because I was always good at it. I was the best out of my friends, the very first time I picked up a bow. And so, I decided it was just . . . what I was _meant_ to do." He readied another arrow on his bow and fell back into his perfect stance. "Things were so much simpler back then."

Another bullseye.

At the next target there was a swordsman who wore clothes under his cloak, rather than armour. He was a pretty handsome bloke, with curly brown hair and freckles. The way he was holding the arrow wasn't quite right – he had all four of his fingers holding the arrow in place, which stopped the bowstring forming the right angle. His left hand gripped the bow, but it was shaking slightly. I noticed that he had his left eye closed instead of his right, meaning that he had the bow in the wrong hand.

When he released his arrow, it embedded itself into the outer ring of the target.

"I don't know your name," I admitted, handing him another arrow.

"Joseph," he answered with a quiet smile that had probably stirred women's hearts before. "Sorry, I'm not a very good archer. I'm trying to get better."

"Well, ask for some help," I instructed as he readied the next arrow. "It won't do you any harm."

He blushed slightly and pulled back his bowstring, making all of the mistakes he had before. Even though he was doing terribly, I had the distinct impression that he was showing off, and that he had done it many times before. I noticed the diamond hilt on his rapier and remembered him from the gathering behind the church that seemed like an eternity ago, and the scathing remark that he received from another swordsman.

His arrow missed the target completely, becoming stuck in the wooden wall.

Joseph swore under his breath, before covering his mouth and letting out a small laugh that was almost a _giggle_. I raised my eyebrows and smiled, knowing full well that he probably meant exactly what he had said, even though he was talking to a walking arsenal.

I could fix that.

"Okay," I began, dropping my smile for an unnaturally serious face, "for a start, you should hold the bow in your right and the arrow left." I flipped the bow over and placed it in the right hand, drawing an arrow for him. "Nock it with three fingers maximum," I continued, plucking his stray finger off the bowstring, "and get your feet right." I kicked his left foot behind the right, and he gave a smell grunt. "Pull it back tighter – there you are – look down the shaft, not right at the target. Be careful with your arm, you don't want to get burnt. Aim carefully, and only shoot when you feel ready. Deep breaths. Concentrate."

I slowly took my hands away from his arms, as if afraid he would collapse when I let go. He stood there for a few seconds, almost all trace of his overconfidence gone.

Joseph let the arrow fly, and it struck the line of red nearest to the heart of the target.

"Not bad," I praised him, impressed, "but live targets are completely different."

I turned to him and realised that he was wincing in pain, clutching an arm that had been burnt by the bowstring.

"And that," I concluded, "is why you should always wear an arm guard."

As I shoved the leather guard against his chest, he gave a shaky laugh.

"Are you this rough with all of us?" he demanded as I turned away.

"Not all of you," I called back. "Just the ones with diamonds in their rapiers."

When I moved onto the next target, I could've sworn that he sighed.

Once I'd finished with the archers, something caught my eye. One of the swordsmen was sitting up against a wall, chatting with a man who was practising with his sword. That wouldn't be so strange if it weren't for the fact that I hadn't seen him on his feet all day, and that his arm was in a sling. As I approached them the other swordsmen quickly walked away, like he was worried I was going to scold his lack of attention.

The man who was sitting down had shoulder-length black hair, thick eyebrows and a slightly sunburnt face. When he saw me coming he assumed the look of a troublesome schoolboy in the presence of a headmaster, something which suited his features perfectly. He couldn't have been much older than a schoolboy himself, probably in his early twenties.

"Shouldn't you be with a doctor?" I asked him, pointing at his sling.

"I suppose," he agreed with a small smile and a blush, "but he probably wanted me out of there as fast as possible."

"How come?" I asked in an attempt to act nonchalantly, sinking to the ground next to him.

"Why are you talking to me?" he demanded suddenly, frowning.

"Because I barely know you, and that's not a good thing if we're gonna fight demons side by side."

"Fair enough," he agreed, laughing a dry laugh. "I'm Graham."

"Zelda68," I introduced myself, going to shake his good hand. There was a moment of awkwardness when I realised that I had reached out with the hand which was wrapped in bandages, and we had to settle for something which wasn't quite a handshake but was good enough in my books.

"You seriously think I don't know your name?" he asked, turning his eyes to the rest of the men.

"I guess not," I responded truthfully.

". . . Don't ask," he said after a small pause.

"About what?" I asked, frowning.

"About the arm."

"I wasn't going to ask about the arm."

"Good."

"But I have to now."

"Why?"

"Because I don't see why you wouldn't want to tell me."

"Honestly, don't ask. It's too embarrassing," he pleaded, cringing.

"What's so embarrassing about having a broken arm the day after a battle?" I wondered aloud. "I mean, what's the worst it could be after goblins?"

He didn't answer, with a face of stone set on the floor.

"Did a thief stab it?"

No answer from Graham.

"Did a warrior smash it?"

No answer.

"I mean, was it a peon?"

Nothing.

"Was it one of the other guys? An accident?"

I sighed at his silence.

"Well, unless you bloody well stabbed yourself then I don't see how much more embarrassing it could be."

He laughed again. "Oh, much more, you can be sure of that."

"Then tell me," I demanded resolutely.

"You really want to know?" he asked, sounding unsure.

"Yes!" I cried. "I think I've made that clear!"

"Swear that you won't laugh."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I responded, even though I was already dead and my heart had been crossed more times than the village square.

He stretched out the arm, as if contemplating it, and grinned mischievously. "This . . ." he began, putting it down again, "had nothing to do with the goblins."

"But it wasn't like that before," I argued, frowning again.

"No, I did this after the whole thing with the goblins."

"After?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Would you please let me finish? What happened was that a few of the swordsmen and me went to . . . well, we went to a tavern after the battle."

I couldn't have responded if I wanted to, because my jaw had dropped and my mind been cleared of all comprehensible thought, all because of those five words.

_A tavern . . . after the battle . . ._

"I was drinking with a couple of my friends, and I guess I had a bit too much. But there was one bloke – I won't say who, but he wasn't a swordsman – that looked like he was going to pass out. I can't say how much he had, nobody was really watching him, but soon he had the bright idea of chatting up the barmaid, who, of course, had just been in a near-death experience. I thought that was just a horrible thing for him to do. But I wasn't quite right on my feet, and I sort of slammed into him. He got a bit worked up and pushed me away, and, well . . ."

"You fell?!" I demanded. "You _fell _after a goblin battle?"

"No, even worse than that," he explained, and I could tell that he was enjoying telling his story despite his initial reluctance. "I put my arm through a window, and then we all had to leave. One of my friends took me to the doctor's, but it took all of the others to get the most drunk bloke home safe . . . I told you not to laugh."

I couldn't help it. For the whole second half of his story, I had been laughing so loud I was silent.

"I'm sorry!" I laughed, trying to stop. "It's just . . . I mean, after a battle like that, you went to a tavern. And you broke your arm." I paused for a moment, cleared my throat, and looked him straight in the eye. "I like you," I decided.

"I like you too," he agreed, giving me a proper grin. "But I've told you my story, now you have to tell me one of yours. I want to know something."

"Right," I agreed.

"You're dead." The words came out like a statement, slowly and hesitantly, but they also seemed like a question. I didn't bother trying to fake a deep breath, just raising my eyebrows instead.

"Yes, Graham. Yes, I am."

"Oh, come on, you can't just leave it there! How did it happen, and how are you sitting here now?"

For one completely irrational moment, I wanted to start crying. Those wounds, even though they were two years old, still felt fresh. But he was asking honest questions, expecting honest answers. Still, something made the words catch in my throat. Graham seemed to realise that he'd been a bit too frank, and looked away for a moment. When he met my gaze again there was something new in there, some almost childish curiosity.

"Are you a miracle?" he asked.

The question came so suddenly and quite literally out of nowhere that I was too shocked to respond. Shocked, me? I've taken down armies, killed demons and watched bunnies explode without so much as blinking. But this one question, asked by one man, rendered me speechless.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked after more than a few seconds.

". . . Nothing," I managed to say breathlessly. "Sorry. I blanked."

"Like a zombie?" he cajoled.

"No," I responded immediately, "like a teenage girl."

"Which, oddly enough, is more disturbing," he replied with perfect timing, and I couldn't help but grin.

"You should probably go home. Get some rest."

"Right," he said, slightly puzzled. "I'll do that. Nice talking to you."

"Yeah," I agreed mindlessly, suddenly taking great interest in the texture of the walls.

_Damn death. It's so bloody complicated._

** X X X**

"_Live targets_," I had told Joseph, "_are completely different_."

And I was right.

As per usual.

I could see the practised way that Robert fell into position, readied his arrow and aimed, but it wasn't as easy for the rest of them. The bullets which the Guide was emptying into the foul creatures gave them some breathing space, but the corruption wouldn't let up so easily. I darted from swordsman to swordsman, giving advice and taking out eaters which got too close, with my cobalt shield and sword at the ready in case of devourers.

I understood their individual strengths and weaknesses, having seen them in training in and out of the corruption, but this time I made a point of putting them all out of their comfort zones. Those who were excellent duellers were given bows and arrows, the archers had swords and the knife-throwers could take their pick. A few of them – including Kilgan – were mediocre at everything, but I let them choose for themselves. It was up to them whether they decided to improve upon themselves or stay with what was comfortable, but I didn't blame them either way.

I couldn't count the number of times I'd been backed into a corner with a weapon I didn't care much for, and I had the scars to prove it. I was just that kind of unlucky, probably because I never through where I was going when I started out, and a whim was all it took to change my mind. I would plan to head into the desert, and end up at the bottom of the dungeon with my keys at home. Aim for the jungle, end up at the bottom of an ebonstone pit with my grappling hook back in a chest. The Guide noticed how frequently that happened, and soon took it upon himself to fill my pouch. I would hold his favourite books ransom to get all of my unnecessary little items back, right down to that single lump of hellstone that I always meant to get rid of.

The swordsmen didn't have the luxury of a guide, and could hardly expect each other to pack lunches just in case.

Not that the Guide did that.

Ever.

Except that one time, but that was only because I'd come home half-starved after that jungle mapping trip that went so desperately wrong. The one with all of that eating raw zombie business. Although I freely admit that I didn't tell him about that until recently.

Right, sorry, back to the present.

Robert was the one person that I let keep his weapon. Partly because his skill at it was amazing, partly because it would take more than me and the Guide to keep the eaters at bay. I almost considered letting Felix keep his sword as well, but I decided that letting him practice with his throwing knives would be better.

If you were careful enough, a dagger could take down an eater. If you got it in the eye, it would be shocked enough to fall from the sky, and then another one would finish it off. Eaters really weren't that tough – it was the sheer _numbers_ that they came in you had to watch out for.

Kilgan proved my point immediately as he sliced clean through one of the creatures only to be met by another from his left. He swung his sword just a bit too wide, and an arrow from Robert suddenly became the only thing between him and a nasty scar. The blonde man froze for a moment, accepting what a close shave that had been, and then nodded thankfully at Robert, who was already taking down some eaters near a group of three.

The group was composed of Joseph, a man with a splint on one leg and a swordsman in bronze. They were covering each other on all sides, forever glancing to and fro in case a devourer showed up. Joseph had his bow out like earlier, but I couldn't help but notice the shining rapier still attached to his belt. A slightly unfair failsafe, displaying his mediocrity to the world.

The overconfident brunette was making the dire mistake of treating the enemies like targets, despite my warning to him. He aimed as if they weren't moving any way but forward, and couldn't curve away from him if they wanted to. He managed to take most of them down, more than I would've expected, but every lucky shot seemed like a sheer fluke that surprised him as much as me. On one occasion he managed to shoot right down the throat of a small eater, only for his friends to be distracted by a massive one behind him.

I couldn't help but admire the way they worked as a unit, each guarding the others as much as themselves. Something that would've saved me blood, sweat and tears on an awful lot of occasions, most likely.

A rumbling in the ground shook me out of my reverie, and the swordsmen out of their group. As the Guide reloaded his gun, I couldn't help but notice that Joseph had taken out his rapier.

"Keep moving!" I ordered them, instinctively wiping the eater blood off my sword. "See if you can take it down! Me and the Guide will be on standby!"

The Guide shot me a wide-eyed yet exhausted look as the group started running hell-for-leather all over the place. I noticed that Robert kept an arrow nocked in his bow, just in case. The man in a splint had one hand over Joseph's shoulder, but they were keeping up a pretty good speed.

The ground shook more and more violently, and I had to leap out of the way as a devourer lunged out of the ground. Its massive fangs snapped towards me without hesitation, and I only just managed to jump out of the way. A couple of arrows from the others struck it, together with a knife in the eye from Felix, but it simply screeched in pain and dived into the ground again.

For a moment I thought that I could still hear the creature roaring far beneath the earth, but I realised that it was the incessant blasting of the Guide's gun against a literal _hoard_ of eaters that were getting ready to feast. I took out my bow without thinking about the fact that we were training and fired arrow after arrow into the mass of eyes and fangs, but they just kept on coming. It seemed like all of the creatures around were gathering into a tidal wave, ready to wipe our footprints clean off the sand.

The devourer surfaced again, knocking all of us off-balance as the mass of eaters got closer, ripping through the air like sharks through water. The Guide kept firing a spray of bullets at them, and those at the front were falling onto the ground violently, almost burying their own graves in the dry earth. The blasting of the gun echoed around my head until my ears were ringing as loudly as the gunshots, but they just kept _coming_ _and_ _coming_ . . .

The devourer took this moment to resurface, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes before setting my face in a serious frown.

It was impossible to tell where exactly the line between training and battle was drawn, but I felt sure that we'd crossed it. The others seemed to realise that too and focused all of their attention on the devourer, determined to finish it off before either taking on the wave of eaters or run hell-for-leather back to the village.

Either way was fine by me.

Arrows, knives and swords pierced the devourer from every conceivable angle, and it began to shriek. The men did little more than wince, probably because we'd all been practically deafened by the Guide's shooting. However, I still seemed to be the only one brave enough to run up to it and chop off its head.

Funny, that. The way it works. They can shoot a devourer no problem, but finishing it off is another thing entirely. Like hunting rabbits, I suppose. The moment you see them lying there, they stop being rabbits and are just _bunnies_, cute little bunnies, no matter how hungry you are.

You never do get used to it. Every time you have a moment to think, before or after the hunt or the fight, you have to get used to the fact that you've killed something which had a life of its own, even if that life was created for a purpose, and said purpose was to rip your head off. All you can do is accept it and do your best to sleep at night, because those faces, man or beast, will never stop staring at you.

He's always there, in the back of my mind. Vincent. The only human being (zombies aside) I've ever actually killed.

These swordsmen were short of a man, and there was nothing I could do about that.

Except, maybe, try to make up for it.

Something I fully intended to do.

"Zelda68! Some help would be nice!" the Guide managed to shout over his gun, desperation clear in his voice.

"Well, since you asked!" I called back, pushing the accusing eyes of the devourer and of Vincent to the back of my mind, where they belonged. "I think we can take 'em down. If any of you lot doubt it . . . well, try not to!"

"Yeah, thanks," murmured the Guide, loading his gun again. "There aren't too many, anyway."

I frowned in confusion at this remark. What was he talking about? There had to be about twenty, with the odd stray coming in from behind. Robert seemed to be taking care of them, but really–

_Whoa!_

An arrow zoomed past my head, a hair's breadth from my skin.

"What the hell was that?!" I cried, turning around.

Joseph was standing there, bow raised and arrow gone, looking as confused as I was. He blinked, as if trying to bring the world into focus, and turned around to shoot the eaters with a scarlet face, completely speechless.

"You okay?" asked the Guide, standing between me and the approaching monsters.

"Fine," I breathed, nocking an arrow in my bow.

And then something strange happened.

The massive tide of eaters was almost close enough to hit with a sword, except suddenly it wasn't a massive tide anymore. Half of the creatures had simply disappeared from my vision, without any conceivable reason.

_Heehee!_

I fired my arrow, taking one down. Without a thought to anything else, I fired arrow after arrow into the dwindling crowd of eaters, taking more than a few of them down and leaving the others to the rest, concentrating on a sudden and momentous realisation.

The Dusk Duck was playing with the way I saw the world, and messing with my thoughts at the same time.

And it wasn't going to stop.

"Let's get out of here!" I called out to the swordsmen, and the Guide wordlessly nodded.

I ran faster than the others, because I was running away from more than just a battlefield. I was running away from my own shadow.

Unfortunately, the thing seemed impossible to escape.


	33. The Duck and Mr Chuckles

As I reached the outskirts of town, I realised that the swordsmen were far behind me. The Guide was rubbing powder-burned fingers, and probably didn't think much of my haste.

I was in something of a panic. My body felt numb, like I was going to faint, and I could feel pins and needles in my rapidly moving legs. It seemed impossible to establish a clear line of thought, or any thought at all for that matter, and a faint buzzing in my ears was starting to make my knees wobble. The idea that the Duck wouldn't let me control my own mind . . . I shivered.

"No, you idiot," I hissed at myself through clenched teeth. "You are not going to faint. You are not."

I made my way down one of many dark and uninhabited alleyways, leaning against a wall. My knees still refused to cooperate, however, and I sank to the floor.

"And you are not going to refer to yourself in the third person," I continued, reaching for my flask of water. "No, that wouldn't be good."

After gulping down most of the water, I took a moment to observe my surroundings. All of the houses around me had either been abandoned by their owners, or perhaps their owners had been abandoned by religion. Few of the dwellings around the edges of the town were occupied, because people had moved closer to the church as the population dwindled. The empty streets out here carried the atmosphere of a ghost town, with every indication of age, isolation and morbid history. The air smelt musty and cramped in the narrow streets and alleys, and only a few rays on sunlight pierced the canopy of roofs and empty washing-lines.

For a moment I wondered who would want to live in a place like this, when I noticed the unlit torches lining the walls. Perhaps this place used to be bright, full of laughter and cheer. Maybe, before death had encompassed the village, this had been a happy place. It seemed impossible to believe anymore.

"This place is bloody creepy," I admitted to myself, tired of my own thoughts.

The Guide and the swordsmen were probably getting close, so I picked myself up off the ground and decided to walk around a bit. I didn't want any of them seeing me like that. For a moment I stumbled, my ears buzzing again, and then I started onwards in what was very nearly a straight line.

I walked down a surprising number of alleyways, all of which were empty. It had never occurred to me just how many there were, squeezed amongst the larger and equally empty houses. The entire village almost formed the shape of a circle, spreading outwards as time went by. Because of this, the houses around the edges of the village were the most modern, and those in the centre and around the square were the oldest. Every now and then I would see a half-built house right on the edges of the border of sunflowers, where it came closest to the village. I suppose the builders never had the chance to finish them off.

It seemed like every time I turned a corner, I had to go the opposite way that the paths wanted me to so that I didn't walk straight towards the village square. No matter how haphazardly all of the buildings were stuffed together, there was always an odd sense of uniformity to everything. It was like being in a maze, but with every path leading towards the centre instead of away from it.

I walked down the umpteenth alley, still with no idea where I was going or where I was going there, and subconsciously began strolling backwards, head right up, trying to spot the sun. I could see a slit of rare blue sky between the towering houses, stacked upwards like some kind of giant's ladder. The overhanging roofs blotted out most of the light, accounting for torch after torch lining the walls.

I tilted my head upwards, trying to get a proper look at the sky. I could just see the edges of the sun's rays, making me squint my eyes as I wandered. Absent-mindedly, I began to walk backwards, staring up at the clear blue slit running through the overhanging roofs like a jagged scar.

Suddenly, my feet disappeared from underneath me. As soon as I hit the ground I was on my feet again, trusting old and treasured instincts as one hand began to move over my shoulder.

My fingertips playing with the warm hilt of my sword, I eyed up the cobblestones in the hope I would soon be cursing about my idiocy and making a mental note never to mention this to the Guide. Except I saw exactly what I hadn't wanted to see – nothing. No uneven cobblestone, nothing to trip over. And when I had fell it didn't just feel like I'd lost my balance – something had been pushing my legs outwards, knocking me onto my back.

Within seconds of this realisation my sword was drawn and at the ready, looking around at the abandoned buildings that now brought me uneasiness rather than curiosity.

Too many shadows, that was the problem. Almost no light here. Too many shadows to hide in. What was I looking for? Goblins? Surely not. Zombies? Not in the village. What about –

Movement. Something scurrying quickly through the darkness at my back. I whirled around, only to slice through thin air. Then it was behind me again, running past, taunting me. Nothing there. It seemed like it had gotten into a house, and a silhouette passed through the light of a back window. There was just one thing I knew for sure – it wasn't human.

There was something rigid about the way it moved, almost as though it was being pulled on strings. The thing was taller than any person I'd ever seen, and walked with a heavy step that reverberated through the alleys, almost seeming to issue from everywhere at once.

Footsteps, behind me, wet and heavy. Not normal, not like mine. I realised with a sense of horror that the creature must have three feet.

"For God's sake," I muttered, remaining frozen in a fighting stance as the thing approached, "can't this high-and-mighty new land ever cut me a bloody break?"

_No, silly! It's funnier when you don't stop._ I tensed at a sickeningly familiar shrill giggle, the footsteps behind me stopping in anticipation. _When people don't stop, they go all grey and thin inside. And when I stop their hearts, the family thinks 'well, at least they're resting'._ A harsh laugh. _Then I go after them!_

Closing my eyes and shaking my head to clear it, I drew in air through my nose and held it in my chest.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I demanded, tired of her creepy hoo-ha. "Just for, like, five minutes? The grownups have a job to do."

_Grownups are always busy. It's not fair! But you're not a grownup, are you? I don't think you ever will be, because you're already dead!_

With a bitter, slightly unnerved laugh beset by my clenched fists and jaw, I turned around to confront whatever was behind me. What I saw didn't help with any digestion that might have been going on in my regrettably dead body (don't ask me how the whole food thing works, I don't think either of us really want to know). The horribly grotesque – wa-hey, I could replace the Guide any day – form seemed to be made out of other bodies, sewn together with what looked like silk. This thing had far too many limbs, a chest so broad I suspected it was made out of two, and any features on its misshapen mass of a head were terribly mutilated. The only things keeping this plaything upright were what appeared to be tendrils of shadow which pierced through the skin at the joints and tips of its body, not unlike a puppet. That was why it hadn't stepped into the sunlight I was standing in.

_Blech_, I know. But I've seen worse.

"What, so Mr. Chuckles here is another toy for you?" I asked, steeling my nerves.

_He's no fun. Just a puppet. You're better, though! I can squeeze and shape you like clay . . ._

"That hardly seems fair," I hissed through gritted teeth, staring at where the unfortunate bloke/s eyes should've been. "See, when you're in a duel with someone, you have to win by skill. Any mad natural abilities you have shouldn't come into it, not when you're fighting with a sword. And the other person relies on theirs just like you do. Get it, you little freak?"

_He he hee! But you don't get it, do you? You're a freak too. You just stopped caring. And anyway, who says that I'm a natural at all this stuff?_

"Mate, you seem to fit the bill. Creepy, open to possession or necromancy or whatever the hell you are or do. You're still a bloody duck to me."

_ . . . Huh?_

"Oh, right, sorry. You not been keeping an eye on all of my thoughts?"

_Of course I have! What does it mean?_

Closing my eyes and rubbing the back of my neck in chagrin, I laughed loudly.

_ "What does it mean?" she shrieked, and I shook my head._

_ Suddenly, I felt something. Cold, bony fingers being pressed lightly, and then harder, against my cheek. When I opened my eyes, it was as if the world was slightly out of focus, like a black fabric was being held over my eyes. Dusk Duck wasn't just a disembodied voice anymore, she was standing in front of me, and the cold, rotting hand on my cheek was hers. I realised that the fingers of her hand were tipped with sharp nails, which might've been stained an unpleasant rusty colour. Those fingernails – actually, closer to bloody claws – were starting to press into my equally cold and clammy skin. Something behind me was holding my body still and my head in place, probably Mr. Chuckles the puppet._

_ "What does it mean?" she repeated with a gash-like smile, cocking her head to one side._

_ "Why don't you know?" I gasped as a trickle of blood oozed down my cheek._

_ "That's what I want to know."_

_ "Then think up another question, dear. I don't know."_

_ Irritated but satisfied, her face relaxed into its usual eerie grin. "Okay then! Here's another question. Why do you bleed?"_

_ "What?" At my response, her fingers dug deeper into my cheek. "I don't bloody know, alright?! How do zombies bleed?"_

_ "And how do you eat?" A bloodthirsty look on her curious, peering face._

_ "I don't know!"_

_ Duck's glowing ember eyes flashed with a look that said 'wrong answer', and then one of her taloned fingers scraped from my cheek to my mouth, peeling off the dead skin. I felt a searing pain down the cut which slowly oozed blood, like she had pressed a red-hot iron to my face. I let out a cry at the sudden sensation, instinctively trying to raise a hand but receiving an arm twisted against my back for my troubles. I hissed, wondering if my arm was sprained, and was pushed onto my knees before the little psycho, like a worshipper of some demented god or devil._

_ I could see a shadowy cloak flap with movement as the inquisitive demon sat down in front of me, looking up into my eyes. She seemed to be enjoying my pain, and had replaced her grin for a thin but more meaningful smile._

_ "Do you know what I can do?"_

_ Oh_, please. _"Honestly, I couldn't give a rat's arse. I'd just like you to go and have a nap, so that I can get a moment's peace. Well, metaphorical peace with more slaying the creatures of darkness. Truce?"_

_ She cocked her head to the side again, and for a moment it almost seemed like she was going to agree. But then the smile widened into that sickening manic grin, and any semblance of sanity left her eyes._

_ "Time to play." _

_ Then, as suddenly and as quick as an arrow shooting out of the darkness, her taloned hand shot towards my chest, and a terrible pain burned through every inch of me. Screaming seemed to be the proper reaction, and I was too shocked to think outside of the box._

_ I wouldn't be lying if I said I had never felt pain like this before. Maybe I'd felt similar things, hanging tenaciously to the end of a dodgy grappling hook, far too close to the flames of hell. Or maybe it was closer to how I felt when that shooting star crashed right behind me, burning off the back of my jacket. It was no ordinary pain. It was like she had grasped her claws around my heart, and was pumping poison through my veins. I couldn't stop to think, or even properly register what her hand was doing, until something insane happened._

_ And, I mean, more insane than usual. Which is pretty bloody insane when Duck is around._

Without a moment's warning, the pain was gone, leaving me as confused and conflicted as ever. Yes, it was good that the pain had stopped, but what did that mean? Was she building up to something new?

Was that just another warm-up?

It took me a moment to get my eyes working again and have a look around. Mr. Chuckles had released his hold on my arm, leaving me with some angry bruises and a welcome sense of freedom. Everything looked normal again, apart from what I saw a few feet in front of me. It was something that took me another few seconds to work out, because it wasn't anything like what I expected to see.

Dusk Duck was lying there, wreathed in her shadows, on her side. There was a pained expression on her face, complimented by its usually grey colour and the sweat which was forming on her brow. She was lying there, panting and grasping her side, and I probably would have thought to run over and stab her in that stupid little face if it weren't for the fact that I was backing away slowly. Her face turned into up into a snarl and she screeched (actually _screeched_) in apparent anguish, revealing two hands clamped around a wound which oozed thick red blood.

Bullet wounds.

For a moment, I sat there, completely dumbfounded. I looked around, and recognised the Guide standing a little while away, looking like you could push him over with a feather.

…Gun.

Gun.

Bullets.

Gun.

Guide.

…Bullets…

Goddamn _bullets_?! I had tried to stab her before, and it didn't so much as leave a scratch. Hell, she didn't even seem to be affected! But she's taken down by some idiot, who couldn't swing a sword without taking his own head off, using a bloody _musket_?!

Oh, forget it. This land doesn't even need a hero. All it bloody needs is somebody who can pull a trigger.

I'm out. This is it. I'm leaving. I'm _done_. I'm –

Duck screamed again, and this time it was out of anger, not pain. The pool of darkness around her seemed to sharpen into knives, and I instinctively jumped away. Her face had become a picture of animalistic ferocity, and her ember eyes glowed brightly once more.

Okay. Focus. Focus. I'm an idiot.

There's no way that a _gun_ could take her down.

Actually, I'm not an idiot. I'm the greatest.

_Next time_, screeched a voice inside my head, making me clamp my hands to my temples against the sheer volume of it, _I'm going for the kids!_

The shadows swirled around her, enveloping her pitiable form, and she was gone as quickly as she had come.

The Guide and I both stared at the spot where she'd been for a good half-minute, before I heard the Guide drop his gun to the ground and start towards me, very slowly.

"Who," he began, "the hell," he took another step, "was _that_?"

After a moment, I found myself pulling a worried smile, shrugging, and giving a nervous laugh. Well, what can you do?

"No idea," I insisted, shaking my head. "Never met her. Never before, no. Not even…yeah, no."

And, I swear, his eyes were full of more anger than her screams.

**X X X**

**Wow, guys. It's been so long! **_**I am so sorry!**_

** I know that this chapter is short, but I wanted to put it up very quickly to make up for lost time. I've got plenty of story planned for the future, and don't intend to stop writing again any time soon, so I'm thinking I might be able to do a chapter every week.**

** I love all of you!**


	34. Five Million Swords

**An Interlude**

She did it again. She went and did it again.

This girl goes and poisons her, stabs her in the back, corrupts whole forests and appears in her dreams. What have I heard about this girl? Nothing. What do I know about this girl? Well, she never told me about her, so I've hardly had time to do some researching. The only thing I do know is that she doesn't agree with bullets – but that could just be because she was concentrating on _torturing my friend_. My stupid, selfish, arrogant, idiotic friend who didn't even tell me that she was in trouble.

So, why was our wise, courageous, beautiful hero not showing and telling?

"I dunno. She was weird."

"Oh, brilliant!" I cried, throwing my crossed arms skyward. "Your own personal demon, and she was too weird to tell me about? Fantastic! Genius! Why don't I just jump off a very high ledge and leave you to be the new Guide?"

"Calm down," Zelda68 instructed me with a weary glance in my direction. "She told me not to tell you, and she seemed pretty serious. Would you want to mess with her?"

"Yes!" I shout, rage taking its hold over sarcasm. "Because apparently it only takes a few bullets to take down whatever the hell kind of hold she's got in your brain! And while I'm at it, did you even consider what I've been telling you since we got to this – this _literally_ goddamned place? We need you at the top of your game, not being toyed with by some creepy-ass kid!"

"Okay, listen!" she shouted right back, closing the few feet left between us and starting to speak in a low, icy whisper. "We don't have a bloody clue what that thing is. Neither do we have any idea what we could do to fight her. Did I try bullets? No, because when have I ever? But now we at least have some idea of how to defend ourselves from a glorified ten-year-old, and that's a step forward. Now shut the bloody hell up, and let's take full advantage of her downtime."

There was silence for a few moments, and I pursed my lips in agitation. "Fine," I admitted, stepping backwards. "But you're an idiot, and I hate you."

"Same here, you mushroom-soup-eating freak."

For a moment the glaring contest between us continued, but it ended quite soon with tension-dissolving laughs on each side and our setting back to work.

I hate her. I do, I hate her. But she's also my best friend, and I probably would've done the same thing. Hell, I probably would've just had a heart attack the second I saw her, let alone accepting her in my head for days. That'd be me – lob a dictionary and run hell-for-leather for all of ten seconds before dying purely out of principle.

But that doesn't mean I won't milk this opportunity for everything it's worth.

Or that she will ever be able to live this down.

I can see it now – me and her, both ancient and bowed over (me from years sitting over desks, her from decades of not sleeping enough), sitting by a fire in a cabin somewhere.

"Guide," she mumbles out with the few teeth she has left, "pass me that ale, you bloody idiot."

Old Me sits back a bit, and squints like he's thinking.

"Remember that time you didn't tell me about the demon?"

_Oh_, yeah. I don't care if this is immature (and probably sounds a lot more like her than me), but I am going to make sure she lives to that age just so that that conversation can take place.

…_Lives_. Lives to that age…

There's a thought. Will she ever age? I can't say for certain that she has over the last couple of years. Sweet sixteen forever? There are a lot of people who wouldn't object to that, but I have a feeling she's not one of them.

Christ. _I'm_ going to age…Will we still be hanging 'round like this when I'm grey?

Nah. I'm never gonna get to be grey. If I do, I'll probably just kill myself anyway. No one messes with my hair, time included.

"Okay!" Zelda68 cries suddenly, like she's come to some kind of conclusion. "We might not get a window like this for ages. It'll take a while for her to sleep all those bullets off – I mean, probably. She said she was gonna go for the kids, and I don't think she was kidding."

"What do you think we should do?" I found myself asking, to my immediate regret. How come she can get so authoritarian all of a sudden? It's nowhere near fair.

"Everything!" she laughs, her eyes gleaming and that silly grin splitting her face. "We try and find out everything we can about her. It seems like she might have a grip on some other people, so we keep this just between us Terrarians. She could be knocking about in anyone else's attic, so don't trust anyone with anything. You blow the dust off some old books, see if you can find out anything about her. I get the feeling she's been knocking around for a while. See if you can find any spells that might help us out, I don't care how dangerous they are."

I nodded instinctively. "What about you?"

"Well, she's got some serious S.O.B.s on her side there, and I have a feeling that this place needs proper protection. I'll get all the swordsmen and tell them that they're gonna have to start training up all those volunteers – they can deal with that. I'll get the builders started on all the stuff we need to protect the village. Better safe than sorry, right? Then I'll get, like…" she paused, eyes far away and brow drawn down in concentration, "five million swords. And then I'm going to the school."

"You what?" I asked, eyebrows almost shooting clean off my forehead. "Why the school?"

"She said she was going for the kids, and they're the most vulnerable lot here. I'll teach them some stuff about swords and stuff."

"I understand that you want them to be able to defend themselves, it only makes sense. But maybe we could leave that to their parents."

"Nah," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not that complicated anyway. It's just, like, here's a sword. It's sharp. Don't fall onto it, because I've done that before and it's not a good idea. Not even for a dare. No, don't ever do that. I don't care how much money they've bet you, or how much of a good idea it seems to be–"

"The Arms Dealer?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "He's a bastard. I'll warn them about him."

"You sure about this?" I tried desperately.

She leaned forwards and gave me a look. "Aren't you?"

Well, there was no point arguing with that. If she's convinced that it's something I would agree to, there's no changing her mind.

I guess it's some weird kind of compliment.

"Wait, hang on," I called out to her retreating back. "Where exactly am I going, and what exactly am I looking up?"

"Research is your thing," she called offhandedly. "Do the reading type stuff."

And then she was gone.

"Well," I muttered to myself, "that was specific."

By the time I'd made it back to the mayor's house, it was sunset. Zelda68 was standing there, having snatched the soldiers from their front doors, telling them nothing and everything at the same time.

"I've got a feeling that something nasty is gonna happen," she told them honestly, "so we need to train up those recruits. Teach them everything cheap and fast – everything you wouldn't use in the ring. Honour can get stuffed, this is about survival. You lot can set everything up yourselves, I've got other stuff to do." Immediately they all started whinging about free time and the fact they'd been training all day. "I know," she called loudly, "but you guys have to do this. Really very badly."

"Why?" called out one of them, his arm in a splint and his dark eyebrows drawn down.

"I'm really sorry, but you're gonna have to trust me here. I've a lot of experience with this kind of thing, and I have a feeling that it's all been a bit too quiet." Shouts about devourers and eaters rained down from the crowd. "Yeah, okay, but that was in the corruption! Now that we've agreed to fight back after the goblins, I'm pretty bloody sure that whoever's watching will be sending in the troops sometime soon. We need to be ready!" She took a moment, and everyone seemed to groan their acceptance simultaneously. "Now go and get some rest. If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd spent the whole day training…" Those who didn't roll their eyes all gave adolescent-sounding groans.

One by one, the swordsmen made their way off home. Felix was the last to go, asking her something about the kids. With her eyes gleaming, she told him she'd thought of that. He didn't look anywhere near as sure as she did at the news, but no one who knew her really would.

I wouldn't!

"You know they hate you, yeah?" I asked when we were left alone.

"Yeah," she admitted, putting her hands behind her head like she revelled in it.

"You know I hate you, yeah?"

"Aww, how sweet," she laughed, pouting. "I hate you too."

We made our way to the door quietly, and I gestured towards the threshold with my hands, stepping aside politely. "Ladies first," I offered.

When I looked at her face, it took me less than a second to realise I'd said the wrong thing.

I suppose what happened next was more of a scuffle than a fight, because it was mostly her knocking the wind out of me and me flailing uselessly. She got a tight hold around my neck and another around my waist, effectively throwing me into the house, while I stumbled less than gracefully and landed flat on my face.

Ow. _Ow_! I'd done something to my ankle!

"I hate you," I cried, trying to grab her shoe as she stepped right over me. "I was just being nice!"

"You were being a patronising little git," she informed me, leaning close. "And we both know that you're the feminine one in this relationship."

Giving me a smile that made me fear for my life, she sighed and chucked something in front of me. When I'd finished contemplating the situation (I don't sulk, don't be silly), I realised that it was a band of regeneration.

I hated her.

I hated her.

I loved her to bits.

…Wait, what?

Like, platonically.

Completely platonically.

Yeah.

Attempting to run away from my thoughts, I made my way upstairs and buried myself in the old books.

It was going to be a long night…

**X X X**

Leaf took the day's final steps around his house, putting out any torches which the dwindling sun had permitted him to light. It was well into the small hours of the morning, and the uncertainty of his steps and the constant rigid movement of putting his hand to his mouth to cover a yawn did nothing to contradict this. The strange aroma of burning wood and smoke filled the air of his cramped hut in a way which made him feel uneasy. He had never felt any need for a fire before coming to the village in order to play his part in events current and future, and the stench of the fire reminded him all too vividly of the battles that had once raged over the hills bordering the forest, century after century. The day would come again soon, he had little doubt. Tensions were running high around the village. Zelda68 might somehow be able to being around the uprising in a peaceful manner, but it would be an uprising nonetheless.

And the believers always won.

He took a glance at his desk, realising that a candle was still alight there, its flame quivering at the draft from his constantly open window. It cast a red glow over his night's writings, and he took a second to observe them. Scrawls in a language known only to himself, formed inside his mind as a way to convey his thoughts after hundreds of years alone, and which he knew bore little semblance to the language which he and the villagers spoke. He allowed himself a small grin as he thought of the Guide's reaction should he ever see it, given his recent obsession over goblin communications and how they differed (or "differentiated", as the Guide had so boldly put) from our own – which they didn't. Not anymore. If he discovered an entirely new language . . .

After treating himself for a moment to the imagery – laughter and hysterics, no doubt – Leaf reached out with the brittle fingers of his corrupted hand and snuffed the candle out as easily as Zelda68 would a green slime. As much as he hated the limb, he had to admit that it could prove useful from time to time.

Giving a final stretch of his muscles, he bade goodnight to the forest over the hills and to the villagers in bed, lying down on his moss-stuffed mattress. Curling himself up instinctively for warmth, he willed his brain to stop running in circles and to focus on the sharp buzzing in his ear product of a day's contemplation (not to mention conversation) and for the rest of the world to vanish.

Leaf paused for only a second to listen to any noises outside of his head before drifting away into his subconscious – and immediately regretted doing so. He could hear  
>it . . .<p>

. . . The clang of a hammer against an anvil, most likely with a sword in between. That of some blacksmith not afraid to slave until dawn for the prospect of a few extra silver coins.

_Who would want a weapon forged at this time of the night?_ He wondered silently to himself._ And why?_

Heaving a small sigh, he cringed and stuffed the pillow over his head. Why did he have to pause and listen? He knew that as soon as he did he would be unable to _stop_. That constant clanging would drone on and on both inside and outside of his head, forcing him into wakefulness. It was like noticing the sound of a clock ticking while you were in bed – once you listened, you were stuck with it.

He tossed and turned, trying desperately to ignore the intrusive noise, but to no avail. Eventually he gave up on the idea of sleep, and re-lit the candle with a match struck on his bad hand. If they were going to keep working all night, he could at least go and have a chat with them, rather than just lying in bed.

Chatting . . . he liked chatting. He liked the word "chatting". He liked words, too! So many of them, so many people to use them with, so many scenes he could paint with them. There was never any reason to use words in his forest, and definitely no reason to chat. Why hadn't he done this earlier?

His face now a mask of contentment, rocking back and forth on his toes, Leaf left his house by the light of the candle and started towards the blacksmith's. There were a few businesses of the kind in the village, he knew that, and only one of them was really up and running anymore. He hadn't talked to the blacksmith himself very much – well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd done an awful lot of talking, but the blacksmith hadn't done an awful lot of replying. He was a very large, barrel-chested, hairy man, who mostly replied in grunts and miniscule changes in disgruntled expression. Leaf supposed that he was actually very nice, underneath all of that. His wife certainly seemed like a very nice woman, and his children were both kind and talkative people.

All the same, there was something else, something all-pervading about their collective manner. _Perhaps_, Leaf thought to himself, _there used to be more than four of them._

His smile faltered.

When Leaf got close to the blacksmith's, he realised that whoever had asked for his services was sitting inside his little workspace. The front wall of the shop had been removed, so that there was less chance of a fire (it was hard to imagine that there hadn't been one or two in the past). The blacksmith's furnaces, anvils and other tools of the trade took up most of the space, with a little counter and bench on the opposite side. Sitting there, with a weary expression on her face and the fire glowing in her eyes, was the Saviour of Light.

"Hello, Zelda68!" Leaf called cheerfully, remembering his manners. "Busy being a hero?"

She turned at his voice with raised eyebrows and a slightly started look on her face, which was soon replaced with a smile and returning wave. "What are you doing up so late?" she asked, moving further up the bench so that Leaf could sit down.

"You were being quite noisy," he explained, taking a place on the seat beside her. She opened her mouth to apologise, but he quickly added "Don't worry, though – I don't really need to sleep."

She nodded after a moment, remembering that he was a bit different.

"I don't like swords," he said at length, and she looked like she didn't know how to respond. "I don't like sharp things. Or bullets, really. Especially bullets. Well, not bullets, really. Guns. If I had to use some kind of a weapon, I would use a bow and arrow. I think there's more skill in that, at least."

"There's skill in swordplay too!" she replied, immediately putting her defences up. "I wouldn't be here today if there wasn't."

"But consider…" he went on for quite a while. Zelda68 stayed quiet, half listening and half staring off into space. After what seemed like hours, when he seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion, he looked at her as if he expected an equally detailed and considered argument on the spot.

"Er," she stammered, gazing into the fire, "I like swords."

And that was that. If it was good enough for the hero, it was good enough for a dryad.

For a while they sat there in silence, staring into the fire. Every now and then Zelda68 would look away and give her eyes a rest, and every time Leaf felt sure that she had fallen asleep. When she finally had, the blacksmith's wife, looking as tired as the hero had when the door opened, came in with a cup of tea for her husband. He accepted gratefully, holding the tiny china cup in his trembling, huge, scarred hands.

"I sow the sheaths," she explained to the customers, giving them a thin smile. "Used to work the bellows too, before…" Without finishing, she was gone.

"Okay," said Zelda68 slowly, turning to the dryad. "I owe you an explanation. Y'see…well, I saw her again."

Suddenly, the silence was a lot less companionable.

**X X X**

Oh my god, I'm carrying about twenty swords. Oh my god. Twenty swords.

I can't drop them. I can't drop them. Dropping them would be a bad idea. Almost as bad as that time the Arms Dealer…

Nah, that was worse.

"Leaf," I called out from behind the literal pile of sheathed swords that was blocking my view as I walked, "I know you don't like swords, but could you maybe carry one? Or two? Come on, even two would really be a hand here."

He looked reluctant for a moment, but plucked two broadswords from the top of the pile and held one in each hand. For a moment I frowned, meaning to tell him that I didn't literally mean two, but decided there would be no point.

Eighteen swords. Almost as bad, but perhaps slightly less lethal if I dropped them.

I won't drop them.

Immensely heavy? Nonsense! They don't weigh a thing.

"Are you sure they're not too heavy?" asked Leaf. "They look very heavy."

Well, there's that illusion shattered. Cheers, mate.

With the blacksmith in bed, the only other noise around the village was coming from the tavern. Every now and then a riotous shout would break the silence, a laugh laced with blurred good intentions and stifled bad ones.

We were getting close to the mayor's house, pile in tow, when we saw a bloke stagger outside. He was obviously in a fair state, barely able to walk in a straight line, murmuring slurred curses under his breath. I did my best to start walking faster, trying to avoid drawing his attention, and Leaf caught on.

Avoid drawing attention? Yeah, like that's gonna work. You're carrying a massive bloody pile of swords.

A pile which you can't drop.

_Will not_ drop.

Oh no no no, _you are not going to drop the bloody_–

Crap.

The clatter was so loud that it was like I'd dropped my whole arsenal. Swords escaped their sheaths and were sent soaring through the air, to make an unceremonious and typically noisy landing on the cobblestones.

Double crap.

As I turned to the bloke who had staggered out of the pub, I realised that he was heading over to us. The chatter and raucous laughter coming from the tavern itself had stopped completely, leaving only an empty silence and many pairs of eyes staring at us from the doors and windows. None of them seemed to be making towards us except Sarita's neighbour, and I had a feeling that they were all expecting something to happen.

A most definitely not good something.

Crap again.

I could barely hear the words which slurred together in what seemed to be a chain of obscenities and curses, but I did have an idea that they might not mean good things. It was like hearing the Demolitionist's raised shouts after a muffled explosion – God knows what he's saying, but it sure as hell isn't good.

Okay, there were two ways to go about this.

One: punch him in the face. But that's no good, because I need the village on my side.

Two: shrug it off. Which wouldn't work. "Hey, sir! You okay? Ha, my bad. I'll just pick up this completely conspicuous pile of swords and make my way into the major's house without explaining myself, 'cause that'll go fine. You're the best! Don't go changing." Nah.

Three: stand firm. Like, no. Then he'll probably just punch me in the face and then there'll be a fight and the swordsmen will probably come running out of the bar and then just general chaos and terror. Wait – three ways. Did I say two? Three.

Four, because there are four and I forget how to count: run like hell.

. . . Yeah, I think I'll go with that one.

I started rapidly gesturing to Leaf, indicating the swords, and he got the gist after a moment. We both started gathering them up ourselves, and although I ended up with twice as many as him he was certainly putting in a lot more effort than before. For half a moment I thought that the creepy bloke was inches behind us, but he was still moving forward at a steady pace and an almost straight line.

Somehow, with barely a moment to spare, the two of us ended up inside the mayor's place, with the doors held firmly in place and really quite sharp and dangerous things scattered all over the floor. Taking a moment to reflect on the man who'd basically been coming after us and the fact that he had been very big indeed, we started sheathing swords again and gradually began walking towards the staircase.

I had completely forgotten that there were probably other people sleeping upstairs, and when Leaf reminded me as much we both walked a little bit faster. You don't wake up the major. That's not something you do. Once you realised you've done that, you'd better fall on your own sword pretty soon.

Luckily, I've got a whole pile to choose from. I've never been good at decisions, though . . . probably end up like a pincushion.

The idea made me grin, and Leaf didn't ask why.

Which made me stop grinning.

Was he okay? I mean, he's had a lot to adjust to, but he's always done well. He was an absent-minded sort of bloke (if bloke is appropriate, do dryads even have genders?), but always the cheerful one. Well, I say always – only known him for a couple of weeks, if that! Feels a lot longer.

Had the village really drawn him down so quickly?

I mean, it was kind of a depressing place. Penned in like that. And the looks on people's faces, like they've been stretched to their limits . . . except Sarita. She just looked like she wasn't going to put up with it half the time.

Maybe that was about faith again. This place seems kinda dark to me, but then I don't have anything to hold onto. They're sure that this isn't the end.

. . . I guess I should be too, religion or no. But something seems a bit . . . well, _final_ about everything here.

Then again, that was what I thought two years ago. And here I am.

Very much alive.

Very much corrupted.

Very much far away from who I was.

. . . Maybe I should think less and smile more.

Drawing me out of my chain of thought, something metal clanged upstairs. The noise repeated itself in a steady rhythm, like someone working. There was no way it was the Guide, he wasn't the type to work with actual tools. He probably had his nose buried in a book right about now, trying to find out something about my old mate Duck.

Like how the hell a bloody _gun_ –

The rhythm of the noise was disrupted by what was unmistakably the sound of failure. Something had fallen onto the floor, and it seemed to bring a shedload of crockery and silverware down with it, judging by the sound. These noises were followed by what was unmistakably some kind of a curse in a shrill voice and barely familiar language.

Ah. The Tinkerer. I forgot about him.

Doing my best to commit the harsh syllables to memory, Leaf and I made our way up the stairs quickly, understanding that the wrath of God (perhaps literally) was about to come raining down on that little runt's head. In a few hurried words the dryad asked if he could spend a night in one of the spare rooms down the hall, and I agreed just as quickly.

I found myself standing in my room, with a massive pile of swords in one corner and a comfortable bed in the other. Closing my eyes for a moment, I almost didn't open them again. My muscles ached from equal parts running around and sitting, and the blurred after-image of the blacksmith's furnace still waited behind my eyelids.

Also, there was the whole torture bit.

I didn't have a bloody clue what it was she had done, I just knew that it hurt. And not the normal kind of hurt, not ow-that-sucks-but-now-I'll-have-a-healing-potion-and-all-is-well kind of hurt, something deeper than that. More practiced, more precise. I had a feeling I wouldn't want to know what Duck got up to in her spare time.

Shouting from the Tinkerer's room broke my reverie, and I smiled guiltily as I sat down on the bed and started unbuckling the little arsenal I'd brought to the blacksmith's. Not my usual lot, but hey, I didn't think I'd need it.

Had I, though? Or was I just freaking out?

Ah, who knows.

The argument died down, and it didn't take a great stretch of the imagination to realise who had won. The sound of slippers sliding across floorboards in grumpy retreat almost made me laugh – the Tinkerer hadn't gotten two words in, and it was already done.

_Bloody goblin had better be worth it_, was all I could think as I lay down to sleep. I needed the little I could take . . .

Tomorrow was going to be fun.


	35. More Speeches

**An Interlude**

Oh my god, I hate her.

Not god literally. You're not real. Why am I referring to you? You're not listening. And if you are, I hate you.

I bloody hate _you_, and I bloody hate _her_.

The way she poses like she's acting on a stage. The way her dark hair holds that perfect shape, and doesn't frizz out at all. The fact that our teacher is always surprised when she offers an answer, even though she does it every bloody time. That high-pitched voice, so much more melodic than mine. That clear skin, anything but pale. I'm not jealous, but you could have taken all of that into account when you were divvying out the stats for all of us.

If you're listening, which you're not.

Stuff you, God, for putting me in Amber's class.

Sighing internally, I took a moment to look around. Miss hadn't made it to the class yet, and everyone was quiet apart from Amber, who was making a show out of checking her watch and clucking impatiently. I mean, who actually does that? Taking my mind off things, I tried my best to count all the rings of wood on my desk. The tree had been old, I knew that much, and probably one of Leaf's. It made a rough circular shape that worked fairly well, but sometimes the unfinished wood left splinters in my arms. I'd counted one-hundred and ninety-three years onto my desk when the door opened, and I saw something I hadn't expected.

Everyone was standing up, and it took me more than a moment to work out why. I hadn't caught what exactly had happened, but it seemed like we were all supposed to go down into the hall, and the rest of my classmates were packing their pencils away. Obviously someone had come in, and I'd completely missed it. Getting distracted is one of my specialties. Right up there with being determined.

We'd been sitting in the hall for a few moments already before something clicked inside my brain. The last time there'd been any kind of school gathering was before the holidays, and back then there had been more than thirty of us.

Now there were less than twenty.

And what the hell did that _mean_? Had some parents decided to keep their kids home after the whole goblin thing?

Or had they been sent up the path without any fuss?

I felt bloody angry. My face had probably gone bright red in that way it always did, and I could feel every one of my muscles tense up. I had to think about stopping myself so that I didn't end up breaking my nails on the lacquered wood floor.

Sometimes I can't help it. There's this rage pounding through me, every inch, so fiery that it physically hurts. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, and for a few moments I completely lose it. But that's okay, because it's only afterwards that the tears start.

That's why I have to stay angry. That's why I have to fight tooth and nail when I'm backed into a corner. It's better than the alternative.

If anything, the whole experience of almost getting knifed by a goblin had taught me what not to do in a crisis situation.

What to do, I reasoned, would be to let go of whatever it was that kept me from shouting at people in the street. That kind of self-control that sort of pops up when there's someone else watching.

I had to forget that. Forget manners. Forget society. Forget anxiety.

Become an animal.

To be honest, the thought kind of made me smile. It was pretty romantic, and also bloody cool.

'Cause I'm a friggin' tiger, and one day that'll show.

I wasn't smiling a few seconds later.

Really, I hadn't been thinking about why we were sitting in the hall. Some announcement, probably. Maybe an assembly, or an extra prayer (yawn). Mostly I'd been lost in my thoughts – that happens a lot when no one's talking to me. I've got whole universes stored away in the back of my head, but so many of them contradict each other to the extent that I can't always remember who I am. Why was I scared then and angry now? Why couldn't I stop thinking about dad a few nights ago, when he hasn't even crossed my mind today?

Why do I have to be a hero when we've got one ten times as good as I'll ever become?

For one ironic moment, I couldn't breathe.

Because, the thing is, she just walked in, that ever-present mixture of swagger and bewilderment contradicting each other in her walk and expression. Armed to the teeth, sharp eyes that were widened with disbelief. Scars and muscles all over, but still so very pretty. Life in her every feature, a chest that didn't move.

Our hero, the walking contradiction.

The Guide walked in behind her, and a few swordsmen behind him. Christ, how many swords were they carrying? While they dumped the weapons unceremoniously onto the ground, she did her best to look imposing despite her raised eyebrows. After a moment she nodded in a surprisingly authoritarian way, and picked up one of the short-swords.

Zelda68 looked back over the small crowd, lost for a moment, and broke into a grin when her eyes met mine, like she somehow hadn't noticed me beforehand.

"Sarita!" she called, giving a little wave, and heads turned. Felling less tiger and more sheep I waved back with a little smile, hoping that I wasn't blushing again. Our hero made a little gesture for me to come over to her, brows drawn down, and I awkwardly acquiesced. Feeling like I was lost in the mist, I expected something of an explanation.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

"Right," she nodded, placing the heavy object into my hands. "Here's a sword."

After a moment I nodded, and she waved her hands ineffectually.

"Do the thing."

** X X X**

She obviously expected some kind of an explanation. Maybe she shouldn't have. I'm not a good teacher. Hell, I'm not even a good student. And teaching a bunch of village kids to use swords shouldn't have been something I decided to do myself.

The Guide would have been good at this. It was kind of his job, after all – not the whole sword bit, but the teaching thing.

And he's used to stubborn pupils.

And so, with that characteristic sigh and shake of his head, the Guide took over my class with vigour and determination marred by the uncertainty in his eyes and the way he seemed reluctant to hold a sword.

My Guide, the walking contradiction.

. . . Bloody weirdo.

I'd woke him up as early as I could manage ("Come on, there's no way _you're_ getting more of a sleep-in than _me_!"), and hadn't really had a chance to ask him about all the research he'd done. At breakfast he'd mumbled something about "checking the lore", but I was too busy stuffing my mouth full of toast and nodding in agreement to ask him what that meant. That didn't really matter – if he'd found anything, he'd have come bursting through my bedroom door at two in the morning with stars in his eyes and birds nesting in his hair.

It'd happened before.

After the last time, he might not be so bold as to interrupt our precious hero's sleepy-time.

Or fail to consider the dagger under my pillow.

But god, the look on his face!

I made my way back towards the swordsmen who were standing in line at the front of the class, trying their best to look professional. Kilgan, I couldn't but notice, was giving a tiny wave to his beaming five-year-old. Recruiting had only just started, so I'd asked for volunteers for training the kids. Maybe the amount of enthusiasm I received shouldn't have come as a shock.

The Guide was saying something-or-other about danger and self-defence, and I could already spot a couple of kids nodding off. Sarita had her cheek resting firmly in her palm, doing her best to look interested.

I'd never understood her better.

Catching her gaze, I gave a secret wave, and then a less secret one. She waved back with a slightly embarrassed smile, but it was too late. Suddenly I was doing this mad windmill thing with my arms, and I could hear Kilgan and Robert sniggering. A few of the students started giggling, and the Guide turned around to see what I was doing.

Still. Still as a statue. I glanced backwards innocently, and pretended to scold Kilgan, who raised his arms defensively. The Guide gave me a raised eyebrow, and turned back to continue going on (and on, and _on_) about swords and safety or something.

I could stand still for a few more moments without messing around, but like the Guide always says, one day he's gonna have to nail me down.

I'd like to see him try.

My head lolled backwards as he tried in vain to keep his judgemental crowd's interest, and then forwards again with an exaggerated breath and clasped hands on my cheek. A mound of spiky hair whirled like it'd been caught in a tornado, and suddenly it had a pair of piercing brown eyes.

"What? Me? It was so obviously Kilgan!" I pleaded with wide eyes, and received an unmoving glare in response.

"It wasn't daddy!" laughed the little boy with blonde hair. "It was the awesome girl!"

"Yeah!" laughed most of the crowd, regardless of age.

I shook my head fervently, and jumped backwards to avoid the inexperienced hands which had grabbed for my arm to scold me. Without a moment's warning the whole thing had become a chase, and everyone was cheering on or laughing wildly. We ran around the outskirts of the hall (well, I ran, he kind of limped – I gave you that band for a reason, bloody idiot), and it was fairly obvious who was getting the most cheers.

"Awesome girl! Awesome girl! Awesome girl!"

Well, they weren't wrong.

When we reached the front again I whirled around, flipping the idiot onto his back, and placed a foot onto his chest, looking off into the distance like a thought had just occurred to me.

"Y'know," I began while my latest kill began scrabbling out from under my foot, "I'm thinking the last thing you guys need is another speech, am I right?"

The crowd responded affirmatively, with the exception of one dark-haired girl who sat poised in the middle – an island in the middle of a storm. I noticed that Sarita was glaring at her, and made some fairly easy assumptions. As I started speaking I still couldn't quite manage to stand still, and rocked back and forth on my toes, making grand gestures with my hands.

"Let's make this quick," I spoke loudly as the Guide managed to evade my grasp, "my name's Zelda68. I know. Numbers. Cool. And this here," I demonstrated, presenting him with open arms while he stood up with a wince, "is the Guide . . ." I paused for a moment, thinking of a proper introduction, "whose hair defies both gravity and reason."

Laughter. I was a riot. Even my victim cracked a smile as his hands worked madly to try and smooth up his spikes.

"I'll tell you a thing or two more about us, but your parents can't know, okay? I'm not sure the mayor would approve."

"But what about daddy?" asked the little blonde boy, breaking the expectant silence. A few of the others nodded.

"If they're swordsmen, it's okay." Blondie nodded in permission to continue. "We're not from around here, as I'm sure you've noticed. Actually, we're from pretty far away – a place called Terraria. Before you ask how we got here, I don't know. We just woke up on the floating island one day."

"Did God send you?" came an honest question from Sarita's rival. I paused for a moment with an open mouth – I suppose I should've seen that coming, but I didn't.

"Maybe," answered the Guide's voice, meeting her halfway. "We don't really know yet."

I nodded. Nice save.

"Yeah. So, the thing is, I know a few things. Who thinks they might be able to guess something I know?"

Silence for a moment, then a few raised hands. I couldn't help but favour little Blondie, because he seemed to be reaching for the roof.

"Swords!" he cried, with shining eyes. "And arrows!"

"That's exactly right, Mister . . .?"

"Alfie," he blushed, covering his smile. Kilgan chuckled.

"Well, Mr. Alfie, how did you guess that?"

"You did the devourer thing!" he cried, and gave us a dramatic recreation, complete with sound effects. The younger kids sat engrossed while the older ones found him adorable.

"Correct, Mr. Alfie. As a matter of fact, that's another thing I know right there." I was quiet for a moment, letting everyone prepare.

This would probably be one hell of a revelation for them. I hoped it was a good one.

"I know a thing or two about the corruption."

Absolute silence. Wide eyes and open mouths – some hopeful, some disbelieving. I wasn't joking around anymore.

"My home, Terraria, it used to have some problems with the corruption. It doesn't anymore, because I figured out how to stop it. And guess what?" I held up my pouch of purification powder. "I have exactly the stuff to do that here." I paused for a moment, and every pair of eyes in the room was watching me. "But I never do that alone. Hence spiky hair there. And I want to be sure that everyone in this village knows how to use a sword before I even come close to being out of sight."

"Why?" asked Sarita, and everyone turned to look at her. "We've got you, and you're a hero. Why do we need to pick up swords?"

"Because," I began, "I know something else. Last time I met the corruption, there was a big bad out there who kept the nastiness running. It's probably the same here. And if it is, then it's gonna go after anyone who can't defend themselves. You all need to be able to do that."

I stopped for a moment to let those words sink in, and was met only by courage and determination.

"Now," I continued, "I'm gonna have a word with the mayor about this as well. We're training up all your parents as well, everyone who can figure out how out pull a trigger when they have to. You guys, all you under-eighteens, you stick with an adult whenever you go anywhere, and they carry a weapon with them. It wouldn't be safe or healthy for kids to just have a sword on them, but we need to teach you how to use them so that . . . Well, if something goes wrong, and you end up with their sword in your hands, you can slice them a bit before you run and get help. Everybody understand?"

Shocked silence for a moment, followed by a chorus of positive answers.

"Good."

I unclenched, giving my best imitation of a deep breath.

These kids were gonna do okay.

"Now, here's a sword. Don't fall on it, I don't care who's paying you."

They laughed, and I realised they were gonna do more than okay.

They weren't going to be soldiers, they were going to be heroes.

** X X X**

_The darkness writhed and twisted around her, but it wasn't unpleasant. The shadows were kind. They healed her wounds, and lay comforting tendrils on her pale face. No matter how hard she tried, she found that she couldn't look at them. Maybe it was because her eyes glowed red._

_ She didn't like the red eyes. The red eyes hadn't been her idea. She didn't like blood._

_ She had seen a lot of blood, and for a moment she thought that was why her eyes were red. She hadn't thought in quite a while, and it came as a surprise – not altogether a pleasant one._

_ The shadows weren't evil, she had been telling herself. It's all relative. Good, bad – they're not real. There's just two sides, and each one is convinced that it's the decent one. So, in a way, she was the good guy._

_ Protagonists and antagonists. Shades of grey. All relative._

_ But when she started thinking, she realised that she might have been wrong._

_ And then the shadows weren't kind anymore._

_ So she stopped, and the thought became an anger that might not have been hers. It was all so difficult to figure out._

_ The only thing that the girl was certain of was that the shadows were safe._

**X X X**

**Apologies for re-uploading – Cenitopius pointed out a few spelling mistakes, and I fixed them up. Thanks again!**


	36. Librarion

Oh Christ, this was a bad idea.

This was the Guide's idea. How did he screw up so badly?!

He's never gonna live this down. One day, when he's all bowed over and gnarled, he's gonna ask me to pass a book. I'll lean back, look him in the eyes and say:

"Remember when you made me sneak into the library?"

Because this was a bad idea.

The kids are on a lunch break, everything had gone just fine. A few decent archers, a lot of friendly faces. I almost got shot in the foot, but the poor kid felt terrible afterwards. I had to talk him down from tears – which was surprisingly hard.

And then that stupid smug little bastard with things living in his hair said that he'd hit a wall in his research. He thought he knew what book he needed, and could tell me where to find it.

But, of course, _he_ wasn't going into the library. And why?

"She's a bit . . . scary."

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I accidentally offended this woman's religion, and he's worried that she'll look at him funny.

So here I am, sneaking past friendly villagers as if they're goblin scouts. Crouched low among the towering bookshelves, watching the dust which filtered their way through sunbeams, a calming aroma of musty books and age creeping its way into my nostrils.

Except, the thing is, I don't feel very relaxed.

What'll the librarian do if she finds me? I think she's actually a complete psycho, or maybe a skeleton in mediocre disguise. Perhaps she'll chain me up and throw me down a pit, all the way into Hell. Maybe she'll flay my skin off piece by piece to feed to her pet harpies. Or tear off her flimsy human disguise and reveal herself as Librarion, mother of all evil.

My money's on the Librarion bit.

Oh, I can see it. I can see it!

An old book, leather-bound and faded. Unlike all of the aging tomes around it, its spine has barely been cracked. After all, the corruption isn't something many people want to understand, and neither are its monsters. Hell, even asking the librarian about it before had alienated both myself and the Guide from its walls.

But he had visited since, hadn't he? Oh, for god's sake, if I'm just here because he's embarrassed I will personally kill him at least twice. And if any more guides come looking for me, I'll probably kill them too, and end up a mass murderer with more blood on my hands than our dear Duck.

Happy daydreams.

Maintaining my crouched position between the shelves, I began shuffling slowly towards the book, trying to keep quiet. The window I'd made my sneaky entrance through was behind me now, moving further away as I closed the distance between myself and the book. Soon I was close enough to read the letters on the spine: '_An Observation on the Foul of our World, as presented by those with the Sight_'.

The Sight? Like, the mayor's psychic thing? This book might actually be helpful . . .

Floorboards creaking from a couple of aisles away. Getting closer. I freeze immediately, hoping that the shelves around me are stocked well enough to conceal my position. They kept moving closer - a rather heavy person, judging by the volume of the creaking - and finally stopped.

In the aisle right behind me.

Ah, crap.

Okay. I have two options. I could tear forwards, grab the book, and vault out of the window before anyone can get a good look at me. That's served me well enough in the past. Or, less preferably, stay still and pray that they don't come any nearer. I don't like that idea very much. I don't even know who it is - if I made myself visible, would they even understand that I wasn't supposed to be here? I didn't really enjoy being in the library anyway, with that terribly oppressive, heavy, musty smell all around me.

Of course, there was a third option. One that made a cat's grin split across my face.

The Guide would never forgive me, but hey, there's about a thousand things I've already done that I could say the same about.

I took a quick glance at the spines of the books on the shelf opposite me. Cooking books.

Okay. Here we go!

I stood up, leaned with all my strength, and pushed over the sturdy bookshelf. A blasphemous curse from the opposite direction told me that my mysterious observer had heard the noise, and was coming to investigate. I dived for the strange old book with all of my strength, skittering to my feet once again and bolting down into the depths of the library. I'd sneak back to the window when everyone had cleared off to tell the librarian what had happened.

As I stopped, I honestly felt excited. Maybe this meant spending more time inside than I'd hoped, but I'd probably caused more action than the dusty building had seen in years.

That was worth it.

Maybe I should've thought this through more thoroughly - not that thinking things through is what I'm renowned for. In fact, probably the opposite. I can hear a small stampede of people making their way towards the disruption, old floorboards creaking under their combined weight. But they're not going to fetch the librarian. In fact, if I didn't know better I'd say that she was in with the rest of them, her shrill, panicked voice rising above the rest.

Bloody hell. Why did I decide that wouldn't happen? And all for the sake of one bloody book!

Okay. Okay, so my exit is cut off, and I don't think there's a back door. Maybe I could go around them...?

I began to take small, tentative steps towards the other aisle, the one which led down opposite the gathering. Of course, for dramatic tension, I'd chosen the one with the creaky floorboards. I tried moving slowly and daintily (never done that before), but every time I put a foot down some tremendous groan would sound out. At first it seemed like they wouldn't hear me over their own raised voices, but then came a sudden silence as though one of them had noticed and alerted the others.

Well, that didn't work.

And my next solution, again for dramatic tension, was to bolt into the darkness clutching my beloved pile of pages.

Someone gave chase - the man with the heavy footsteps. He didn't let up as he went after me, and I realised with chagrin that most of that weight must have been muscle. The blacksmith? Oh god . . . it was, wasn't it?

No more late-night forging for me.

The far end of the library was darker and gloomier than the rest, but I didn't have much time to stop and observe its aesthetic. A cage-like interior seemed to be one of the focuses of this building, to the extent that there were so few windows at the back that dusty lanterns had to be lit during the day to cast a flickering light to read by.

I'll say that again - lanterns. During the day.

It was in this yellow half-light that I found myself crashing into a shadowy wall, and invariably backed against it. The blacksmith was getting closer, I had nowhere to run, and I was reading a book that was probably forbidden, if not at least frowned upon. Plus, I was never supposed to be here in the first place.

Backed into a corner, footsteps closing in, all for the sake of the Guide and his books . . .

Now why did that sound familiar?

"_Go to the dungeon, he says. It'll be fun, he says. You might learn something, he says, like I'm a child! Well, I've learned something, mate. I've learned that that weird old man outside is actually a giant skeleton! And no, not just that, he's actually a completely new person who just happened to be," I put my fingers into quotation marks, "_possessed_ by Skeletron. I've also learned that this place is awfully dangerous, and quite a bit more deadly than you put in the brochure!" I paused in my tirade to wring the neck of an imaginary Guide, and deflated with a groan._

_ "I just wanted treasure," I whinged, continuing down the purple brick corridor. "I just wanted enough gold to pay off the Merchant. I just wanted something to replace the bloody Night's Bane!" I clutched at the dark sword in my hands, and for one irrational moment considered throwing it away and leaving it here, going back to my old gold broadsword. "But here I am," I continued, "lost. Alone. In the bottom of a dungeon. And this is _all_ the Guide's -"_

_ Movement ahead. I clutched at the sword, ready to lunge. It wasn't a pair of eyes that greeted me, but the empty eye sockets of a skeleton. Some wayward adventurer who found his way down here, likely before good ol' Skeletron started his patrol. I readied myself into a fighting stance - I was messed up aplenty thanks to that Dark Caster, not to mention the battle beforehand, but I could take him._

_ But, the thing is, Lady Luck had already helped me take down the dungeon guardian, and, I swear, she's such a bloody turncoat._

_ "Ah," I murmured as more skeletons appeared. There must have been about ten in all, completely intact, staring me down from what almost looked like a dead end. I gave up, shone them a rueful grin, and shrugged._

_ "Maybe now wasn't the best time to vent, eh, boys?"_

_ I laughed, but there were no takers in the audience._

_ "Tough crowd," was all I could think to say before I made the first slow step backwards, ready to take off like a rabbit._

_ As I took that step, so did they, and for a strange moment I thought that they might stop if I did, which was as stupid an idea as it sounded, and cost me some of my advantage. The gang of monsters seemed to revel in my presence, and didn't move any faster than I did, with the disturbing certainty that they would catch up. How long had they been down here? Why the hell were they all down here in the first place? And how come they were all around the same height, wearing similar clothing?_

_ Maybe they can reproduce somehow. Like, skeleton romance, and then _boom_! Identical skeleton that can then go around and romance some more. And then you end up with a village full of identical skeletons at the bottom of a dungeon, all moving completely in sync, and all thinking exactly the same things. And they glue each other's arms back on because, hey, what else would keep them sticking together? But then, one fateful day, comes a skeleton unlike any other. Actually he isn't, he's just incredibly pretentious and thinks that his cheekbones are higher than everybody else's, and he writes poetry that is supposed to be deep but it's really terrible, but this guy finds a way to dig through dungeon bricks, and soon they'll be everywhere a tsunami of identical skeletons led by the high-cheekboned Skeleton King swamping the land of Terraria in eternal darkness and forever worshipping –_

_ Did they move during that extremely important monologue?_

_ Nah, I must be imagining – no, okay, they moved._

_ And I could swear that the one in front of them had slightly higher cheekbones than the rest._

_ I made a small move backwards, feeling like a rabbit caught in torchlight. If I ran away, they'd follow, and they probably knew this place better than me. There was no way of getting past them, and the climb behind me was so steep I probably couldn't manage it without a grappling hook. I'd passed a few rooms shooting off this hallway, but they all seemed pretty dangerous, and I was too messed up to be dealing with traps._

_ Well, this wasn't a _good_ situation . . ._

_ The Skeleton King lunged at me with a moment's warning, bone hands clutching desperately for my flesh and teeth chattering with a terrifying sound, and I didn't really have time to think. I let out a shriek of surprise, and some half-formed thought echoed in my brain about chucking the Night's Bane away. I flung my sword into the crowd and a lucky few scrambled at the sides of the hallway to avoid its sharp edges. Seeing my moment – and no other alternative – I dived through the hole in the crowd, into the unknown blackness._

_ "Your poetry is rubbish!" I called back in a daze, running at full speed into the dark corridors ahead, hoping and praying that I would tread on any spikes or set off any traps._

_ Concentrating on my breathing and the rhythm of my feet, I stumbled for a moment on an unseen obstacle, and realised too late I'd pulled the tripwire for a blow-dart. The brightly-coloured spike loomed in the corner of my vision, and gouged its way across the top of my head as I ducked just in time. My legs were burning, blood hazed my vision, and I was being pursued by skeletons. The fact that I was running on an incline didn't particularly help matters either._

_ If the Guide had been a little more straight with me . . ._

_ A purple brick wall loomed out of nowhere, and I smacked straight into it with terrible force. Stars danced behind my closed eyelids and my whole body felt sore. I probably had bruises to rival that old man from earlier._

_ Shaking uncontrollably, I pushed myself into a sitting position against the wall (my new sworn enemy) and looked back into the darkness._

_ The Skeleton King advanced on me, hatred burning in his every movement. One of his arms had been clipped off at the shoulder by my flying sword, and he didn't seem very happy about it. Swearing to myself and trying to stop my vision from swimming, I looked around blankly, crossing my fingers for a miracle._

_ There! A raised tile, slightly different from the rest._

_ "Okay," I mumbled, meeting the King's gaze again. "Sorry about the poetry thing."_

_ I pressed down onto the tile, and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as a boulder smashed down through a hole in the ceiling, released by some kind of mechanism in the walls. It smashed right through the Skeleton King and took out all of his identical friends, rolling back down the incline and leaving them nothing but a pile of bones and dust. Just as they should be._

_ Realising too late that the bound books tied onto my belt had been weighing me down, I sighed and thought again of the Guide._

_ "There's an old dungeon not far from here," I mocked in a weak voice. "Now might be a good time to check it out."_

_ As I clung onto my magic mirror and prepared for a rough ride, I knew one thing for certain. I'd had enough of dungeons for a lifetime._

_ Or, at least, that day. After all, I'd forgotten the Night's Edge._

Raised tile. Boulder. Dungeon.

My eyes searched the orange-tinted room, still dazed from everything I'd remembered, and came up with something surprising.

There was a book on the shelf beside me that wasn't actually a book. It was wooden, and connected to some kind of mechanism. I'd been in enough dungeons to know what that meant. Not questioning my luck, and not bothering to overthink things like I normally did, I grabbed the book and pulled hard. Against rusted cogs and old rope I pitted all of my strength, and they in turn pulled up a secret hatch in the planked floor.

If I let go of the book, the hatch would close, but if I dived for it then I might not get there in time. Reaching out desperately with one foot, I managed to jam the toe of my boot under the wood, marvelling at how well it had blended in beforehand.

The blacksmith was close.

I dived to the floor, hauled the trapdoor open, and disappeared into darkness. The false book snapped back into its place, and I listened to the confusion of the villagers above me. Then came a shrill voice, a voice which I had heard rambling about god, and I froze.

Oh no. Don't you dare. She can't know that this bloody freaky basement thing is down here.

Maybe this is where she brings her victims.

I might have just walked straight into Librarion's larder . . . ready for her to _feast_.

Footsteps reverberated through the floorboards above me, moving dangerously close. I'd obviously caused a bit of a fuss with my unnecessarily dramatic escapade, and the thought brought a wolfish grin onto my face. Nothing made me happier than upsetting musty old people, or dusty old morals, or rules carved in stone. Defying expectations was better than defeating an Eater of Worlds.

Chocolate was the only thing which trumped both of them.

Eventually the people above shuffled off dejectedly into their own little routines, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for having knocked over that bookshelf. Almost. Not quite.

Allowing myself a second to come to terms with my current predicament and realise exactly what a strange situation I was in, I felt around desperately for some kind of torch. The trapdoor had left me in complete darkness, probably entirely intentionally, and there had to be something to show me the way ahead. I wasn't stumbling blindly in the darkness, not if I could help it.

After running my hands along the wall for a small way I came across a lantern – well, I say came across. It bumped violently against my forehead when I moved a step forward. I reached upwards and unhooked the helpful device from the ceiling of the tunnel, marvelling at how convenient it had been. Surely someone who remembered to leave a lantern behind would also leave some matches. I could touch both walls of the tunnel without difficulty, and realised that there was a shelf against the wall to my left.

Swishing my hand back and forth through the dust, I came across . . . matches, _yes_!

It took three goes for me to light the fragile little things, because I kept breaking them in half in trying to strike them across the box. I'd never really been one for matches – too finicky. Just keep a fire lit somewhere, why don't you?

I suppose that would be more difficult in a village.

My new lantern had an equally peculiar and fussy mechanism – there was a small wheel on the outside, which you had to turn to make a wick rise up from a small oil-filled chamber. I wondered if it had been designed by whoever managed all those cogs in the walls. Someone I should look up to, but probably wouldn't.

In the orange light of the lantern, my surroundings felt even more sinister. I reached my hand behind the shelves to see an interesting mechanism of belts and cogs – one that I could never manage or maintain, but which amazingly still functioned after obvious years of abandonment. Someone had put an awful lot of work into concealing this tunnel, which brought an obvious question to my mind: why?

I could think of a fair few reasons why someone would want to hide in this village. Perhaps they were atheist, or some other kind of non-conformist, and had been found out. It was possible that they were just some reclusive genius who wanted a break from village life. Or maybe they found out the truth about Librarion, Mother of All Evil, and feared her inevitable wrath.

And so the mighty Librarion smote the non-believers, and the corruption feasted on the worthy that remained.

. . . Maybe I went off-track a bit there.

So, holding the all-important book tight to my chest, I set off through what was probably somebody's lifework.

The tunnels branched off on many occasions, leaving me unsure where to head or where I'd come from. I had some vague idea about which way the library was, and therefore where the mayor's house would be, but soon I was completely unsure. These tunnels built onto the ones which had been mined out by the goblins, but soon I wondered exactly how long they had been there, and whether the goblins had simply utilised whatever existed. That sounded like them. But then why would there be a secret system of tunnels running under the village, and why would nobody understand that they were there?

This place had been around for a while, and it probably had an awful lot of secrets. More skeletons in their closets than in mine, most likely. Suddenly life in the village didn't seem so dull.

Movement ahead.

I froze into a fighting stance and carefully put down my book, careful not to make any sudden movements, reaching desperately for my sword. Then, wondering whether it would be necessary but with a worried scowl etched onto my face, I spoke.

"Who are you?"

No reply. For a moment I thought I might have imagined that image, those rustling shadows which reminded me of our indisposed Duck, but then the shadows moved again. Was it something in the darkness, or the darkness itself?

"What are you?" I found myself asking, ears pricking up.

Was that someone breathing? It was. Shallow breaths, trying to keep quiet, but it was as if they'd been running. I'd noticed that Duck breathed a little while back, but why would she have been hiding in these tunnels?

More to the point, what monstrosity would _she_ run from?

My fingers played with the hilt of my sword, taking comfort from the warmth of its hellstone, and I opened my mouth to speak again. The breathing suddenly became heavier and pained, and a face loomed into my torchlight.

It was her, it was Dusk Duck, but the red glow in her eyes seemed to flicker. She came close, far too close, mouth moving up and down but unable to form words. As she moved nearer to me I realised that she shadows were holding her back, pulling her, and that without them her body was bare. I felt exposed. There was a plea in her eyes, as though she was too injured to speak clearly. Anticipating regret for my every movement, I moved one ear close to her mouth, hoping against hope that her pain was real.

"F . . . fi- . . ." she groaned weakly through a pained throat. "Five . . . five."

I glanced into her eyes.

They weren't glowing anymore.

She looked scared.

Just as suddenly as Duck had appeared, she was snatched back into the shadows, grabbing desperately for my support. I reached out instinctively, hoping to provide some support to what was suddenly and unquestionably a frightened little girl, but reined myself in before I dived into the darkness.

After a moment of standing still with shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened, my legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground with an oath. I wanted to ask myself what had just happened, but it seemed far too horrible to comprehend. Even after the life I've lead.

With trembling hands, I opened the leather-bound volume that had caused me so much trouble. The book was divided into sections that had multiple headings, and each began with an illustration of the foul creature it detailed. I recognised a few – there was Skeletron, an Eater of Worlds, and of course the Eye, but even King Smile made the cut – but most of them were completely alien to me, and the drawings didn't do too much to help. Most were vague and unreliable, as though scrawled by a madman. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if "the Sight" brought insanity, before I remembered the mayor.

I guess knowing a lot of stuff takes its toll.

Something caught my eye, and I took a moment to calm myself before opening the book again. There, below the header of page three-hundred and six, she was. Or someone very like her. A black mass consumed most of the paper frame, writhing and twisting in a way that might not have been captured by the artist had I not seen it firsthand. At the forefront there were a number of figures, standing in a line as if they were soldiers. Some seemed quite plain, others grotesquely deformed, but all had their eyes obscured by shadow and tendrils reaching into their skin. At the front, their cloak composed of a swirling darkness provided by the mass in the background, was an androgynous figure whose eyes glowed.

I'd found her.

Dusk Duck Had It.

I glanced at the title of the page, written in some ornate and outdated script that I could barely decipher in the half-light. I kept the image in my mind for some time as I continued traversing the caves, now desperately searching for an exit. It was only when I finally found light up ahead and stumbled blindly forwards that the name came to me.

The Puppeteer.

Well, it made sense.

And, much to the confusion of both myself and those around me, I found myself in the goblin cavern underneath the church, fifty pairs of yellow and red eyes staring at me.

"Just a quick . . . inspection," I blurted out without thought, lamely saluting the Speaker. "We're arming the villagers now, so that they can defend themselves. But, well, we're worried a few of them might try to defend themselves against you." The crowd murmured an agreement. "So, are all of you guys armed? Not so you can attack, just for self-defence."

Silence.

"Seriously? Like, after a battle, you're _all_ still armed?"

A few more moments of awkward shifting on feet and eyes refusing to meet mine. One runt of a thief raised a stubby hand, but his mates slapped it back down with boisterous chuckles.

Nodding to myself, I continued onwards. "I like you guys," I decided, and they seemed grateful. I turned to the Speaker again, making my presence official. "Any problems, let me know." He returned my words with a slightly bewildered salute of his own, and then carried on chatting with a bunch of peons.

The Puppeteer . . .

Which left me with an important question – one which the book's illustration hadn't really answered.

Was Duck the puppet, or the Puppeteer?

** X X X**

_Somehow, the girl got away with it. The shadows weren't angry with her. They soothed her wounds, too tired to inflict more. Perhaps later she would be punished. Maybe the shadows just had to gather their strength._

_ She could do a lot more in that time._

_ The girl smiled. She didn't believe in good and evil, but she believed in courage._

_ "Four and a half," she whispered, but the shadows didn't hear._


	37. Heroes Carved in Stone

I don't know how I ended up in this situation.

I mean, I remember moving out of the church and causing a bit of a stir. I recall making my way back to the school, and starting the training over again. I can picture vividly the look on the Guide's face when I handed him the book, and the promises of everlasting gratitude and eternal servitude which I intended to hold against him. I can replay in my head how training had ended, and the kids had all been asked to gather in the village square for one last message.

What I don't understand is how I ended up being hounded onto a stage by the mayor, in front of all the adults who had just finished their training, and being expected to share everything I had with the kids.

The thing is, kids are easy. I get them, and they get me. It's easy enough to be myself around them, because we all feel comfortable with each other, and they're the kind of people I enjoy surrounding myself with. Facing down an enormous crowd of fully-grown villagers and running the risk of losing every foothold I have here with one wrong word is not my idea of comfortable.

Taking down the goblins had been far easier.

Hell, so far, things had been on par with the Eye itself . . . and I hadn't even uttered a word yet. All those eyes staring right into me. I felt sure they were about to shoot forward and pierce me in a literal sense. Most of the swordsmen were looking away in embarrassment, and the mayor took a deep breath as he began to regret his decision. Even the Guide had put down his all-important book to shuffle awkwardly towards me in some muted gesture of support.

"I – er," I stammered, so astonished at the way my voice carried from the podium (probably something to do with the mages) that I took a step backwards. "Whoa. Okay. So, um, I, er . . ." I took a moment, trying to collect thoughts which dangled just outside of my reach. "You've all, er, seen me around the place, I suppose. Sorry if I'm not fantastic at this . . ."

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I trailed off. Get started, don't apologise already! My words came one by one, with barely any cohesion. "And you'd all know I'm not from around here, because . . . well, I only came a few weeks ago. Really, I should've introduced myself back then, but since I didn't then now seems as good a time as any." As I continued the sentences strung themselves together more naturally. "My name's Zelda68, which I'm pretty sure most of you know. Numbers. Cool, yeah? Don't ask me why. Not 'cause it's a secret, because I don't know." A few stifled laughs, and I paused for them.

"Now, you're probably asking yourselves how I got here. Together with him, by the way," I reminded them, jerking my fingers towards the Guide, "he's my guide. Also _the_ Guide, which basically means he's fun at parties." I wasn't making a lot of sense, but some people seemed to find that funny. "So, to be honest, I don't really know. We woke up on the floating island one day – we didn't know we were _on_ a floating island, so climbing the hills was a bit of a shock – but I tend to get lost like that, so there. Then we saw this harpy . . ." I cut myself off as the crowd began to mutter, and I remembered the dilemma Sarita had mentioned about it being an angel. "B-but maybe that's a sensitive subject, so I'll move on." After a pause, "So the mayor gave us a hand, because he's all psychic-like. D'you guys call it the Sight?"

"Yes," a few people cried out, including one voice from behind me. I turned in shock to see a smiling mayor, and his public laughed.

"You sure you don't wanna be doing this, mate – I mean, sir?" I asked, stepping down from the podium. "I'm rubbish."

"You took down the goblins like this," the Guide reminded me incredulously, giving up any notion of support now that I seemed half-competent.

"Doesn't mean I'm good with words," I reminded him, and one person in particular seemed to find that very funny. I was glad the Tinkerer hadn't heard – I didn't mean to offend anyone.

And so, giving up already, the mayor regained his dignified composure and stood at the podium himself. All chatter died down as he raised his hands, and soon everyone stood stock-still as his penetrating eyes peered through thick lenses in search of any mischief. After what felt like a minute, in which there was no noise but the wind and the shuffling of tired feet, the mayor took a deep breath and began to speak in rich, deep tones which belied his age.

"I have possessed the Sight for many years," he informed the crowd, pausing for effect between each sentence, "since it was passed down to me by the previous mayor, God rest her soul. For all this time I have been as a receptacle for this world, and I have seen many things. The foul and fair, past and present, so many lives playing themselves out before my eyes. Often these visions come suddenly and conclude equally so, but there have been exceptions. One such exception," he turned to face me, "is this young woman."

I raised a hand as if to wave, but it was snatched down again by the Guide. Apparently it distracted from the mayor's gravitas.

"Doubtless this will come as a shock to many of you, as it did to me, but there are lands beyond our borders, beyond even the sea, with shores and peoples of their own." This caused quite a stir, and the mayor raised a hand only after it began to die down. "One such land is the land of Terraria, a strange place inhabited by equally strange creatures." For a moment I wanted to argue, until I realised he was talking about all the monsters, not my friends. "The people of this land do not carry names, merely titles, purposes which they serve. In service, indeed, to the only of their small number with their own name. Someone they refer to as their hero, whose adventures – and indeed misadventures – I have followed since their inception. Her name, as you doubtless will have guessed, is Zelda68."

Instead of this causing the uproar I expected, it instead created an uncomfortable silence. For the first time, it seemed as if the people were questioning their mayor. This unsteadiness in the crowd seemed to take the mayor by surprise as much as it did me, but he covered it with a cough and carried on with his story.

Which was worrying, because it was actually starting to sound like a story. And a very far-fetched one too. He seemed to be trying to compensate, to eliminate some of the more difficult to believe parts if my life story, but it didn't seem to be doing him any good. Falling back on religion didn't help either.

"The corruption was spreading in this land too, and so a hero came into being, whose duty it was to protect her land. She overcame great hardships – guided by the heavens – and fought though great tribulations to stand where she does today: here, among us, while her homeland remains safe."

Oh my god. People were leaving. There were actual people, walking away from their mayor. Sarita's neighbours went first, shaking their heads, giving him up as a lost cause. Weren't his words proof enough for them? Wasn't I, standing here right now, good enough?

The mayor faltered, disbelieving, unable to cover his shock. More and more of the crowd filtered away from the village square, back to their homes. I met Sarita's gaze in the middle of it all, her expression one of barely-contained anger at her fellows. Christina held her baby close, as if worried that she was about to take off herself. Only a handful of people remained still – the trusting and kind type. Also brave, I supposed – courage enough to go against the grain. There were a few miscellaneous others, but the only ones I recognised were the builders, our dear dryad, a few mages and, shockingly, Librarion herself. All was silence, apart from the shuffling of feet as they made their way into side-streets.

I felt like I should say something, but felt certain that I could only make this delicate situation worse. I was too direct, no good with words, not the kind of person this situation needed. A light touch.

I turned to the Guide, unsure what to do. He was just as shocked as me, and I could see the cogs turning in his head.

"Do something," I whispered desperately, but he just stared. First at me, then the departing crowd, and then back.

As I watched his stammering mouth, that fish-like expression ever-present on his face, a voice rang out over the crowd. I jumped at the sound, a command for everyone to freeze, and turned to see something I didn't expect.

Sarita had taken to the stage.

"Everyone stop!" she shouted, far too loud to be ignored. Heads turned, most caught in her suddenly fierce gaze. She stopped for a moment, finding her words, but the anger in her every movement was unrelenting and enough to hold everyone in place. "I know you don't believe the mayor, and I get it. It sounds like a fairy story. But this girl," she continued, gesturing towards me, "is a hero, whether you like it or not. You've seen her against the goblins – we all have! She has been training the swordsmen! She's an eighteen year old girl! Now, I don't care if you believe in Terraria or in guides and heroes, but you have to admit that she is very brave, and he is here to help us, and to ignore her and just walk away is such a very, very _selfish_ thing for all of you to do. Because we need help. Just look around us, just think about all the people we've lost out there. We are backed against a wall. I don't care if you believe in God, or you believe in the mayor, I don't care what keeps you going . . . because I believe in her. And she has never, _never_ let me down."

As I watched her, I could feel the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. Protecting the world, I could do. But betraying this girl's trust . . . I had to be so careful.

Sarita took heavy breaths, having poured emotion into every syllable of her speech. Her face had gone bright red, her hair was frizzing up, and there were tears in her eyes. Christina, who had been staring in shock throughout the whole affair, wordlessly climbed onto the stage and hugged her daughter tightly. Felix rushed over, retrieving Amethyst, who had been squeezed in the middle.

Suddenly, the spell was broken.

"You think our Lord has let us down, Sarita?" asked a dangerous voice in the crowd. I couldn't pinpoint it at first, but realised it was coming from Sarita's neighbour. The one who had called me a heathen.

"You can't," said his wife in an icy voice, brow drawn down in a grimace. "Not after your father."

As she took a step forward, it was an instinct for me to reach for my sword. There was some sinister promise in her emotionless eyes, something very dark and primal. I turned to look at the small family, making sure I remained one step before them. Sarita seemed confused, Christina utterly terrified.

"It is our belief in him that keeps us alive," another woman almost pleaded, long fingernails drawn into a prayer as she made her way forward.

I looked out over the people she had tried to convince. Some seemed determined, with a lack of thought and blind belief that had cost children their lives before. Others were nervous, twitching, as though afraid speaking out would cause them to take Sarita's place. I realised that it wasn't as simple as a mob of one mind – only a few truly believed, and the rest didn't dare to speak out.

It wasn't the mayor that controlled the village, not really. It was those few that were willing to kill to serve their God, and were perhaps even unaware of the lives they were throwing away.

"My dear," sang a voice, almost sympathetic, "you shall have to walk the path." It was the librarian.

"No!" cried the mayor furiously, taking a step forwards. "This isn't religion, you have to see sense! You are throwing away a young girl's life, senselessly!"

"If she hasn't committed any sins then she will return to us," countered the woman with long fingernails.

"If she evades the creatures of the corruption," corrected the mayor, stepping forward imperiously. "Can you imagine a child doing that?"

It almost seemed as if his words had had some effect, but then the townsfolk began to move forwards into the light of the setting sun, unwilling to contradict the feelings of those who spoke up.

"I'd be careful," crooned the neighbour's wife in a way which reminded me of the demon, "it almost sounds as if you are doubting, mayor."

His face was one of horror. He'd lost control of his people, just like that.

In a sudden bustle of movement, Sarita was torn screaming away from her mother. Christina went limp, eyes full of tears, and began to sob. She called out desperately for her daughter, but couldn't quite bring herself to step forward, as though she was convinced it was a bad dream. The feisty teenager kicked out against her neighbour, scoring a proper hit under the man's jaw. He swore, falling backwards, and came towards her again with a vengeance. She tried to cover her head, lashing our blindly with one foot from the floor, and suddenly he was ready with a punch that looked like it could take her head off.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice carried by the stage. "Okay, she's going on the path, fine! I'll guide her!"

"What are you doing?" asked the Guide at my shoulder, shaking with fear.

"I'll take her, and you can all keep an eye to make sure she goes. You'll see us head up the hill and come back, _enlightened_. Just don't bloody well kill her before she gets up there."

The mood was one of a grudging respect, the mob almost comically frozen in action, neighbour with one fist in the air. They did their best to regain their composure, and the Guide gave me a pat on the back. Doing my best to appear dignified, I walked over to Christina.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "I'll take care of her."

The mother still appeared terrified, but nodded, giving me a tired but thankful smile.

"I wish you were here for him," she said simply. I didn't know how to reply for a moment, then came close to taking a breath.

"So do I," I said as Felix hugged her close.

And so, loosening the pouch on my belt, I prepared to guide Sarita and purify the Path of Enlightenment.

I'd worried about losing my foothold in the village, but the idea that the mayor could do it had never crossed my mind. Sarita providing a distraction was probably the only thing that'd saved his reputation forever.

"Thanks," I told Sarita.

"Any time," she said with a sad smile, eyes wide and honest.

I promised myself not to betray that trust.

**X X X**

I closed the door to the mayor's house with no small degree of difficulty, sinking to the floor in exhaustion and shaking my head miserably.

These people, I swear.

Groaning my frustration, I opened my eyes to see the Guide standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

"You okay?" he asked, looking as tired as I felt.

"No," I answered honestly, getting to my feet. "You ever tried moving in a little pocket of not-corruption, keeping a thirteen year old girl safe?"

"Nothing springs to mind," he answered with a smile, and I took a lazy swing in his direction which was easily avoided.

"There was this lady outside. Took Sarita's arm. Guess what she said." He shrugged. "'You're lucky, considering your father.'"

The Guide paused, muttering an oath. "Did you have to hold her back?"

"Yep. What's happening with the mayor?" I asked, starting down the hallway.

"He's up in his office panicking," the Guide told me, pinching the bridge of his nose. "His secretary's up there too, trying to work something out. Neither of them imagined that anything like this might happen."

"I didn't either," I agreed, rubbing my eyes. "It's just insane."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed inanely, looking at the floor. "He told me something, about the previous mayor." I gestured languidly for him to continue. "She went a bit funny at the end. Older woman, tons of responsibility, stuck with visions of this terrible battle for years and years. Her public speeches get sillier and sillier, paperwork starts heaping up. She loses it, wanders off into the corruption, before it's even started spreading. The Sight only passes on through death, and him upstairs started seeing things the next day."

"Wow," I thought aloud, honestly surprised. "That's why they're so convinced he's gone around the bend – it's happened before."

"Well, there's always the chance it was your demon. Y'know, manipulating people."

"What?" I exclaimed, whirling around to face the Guide. "She's out of action, isn't she?"

"Who knows?" he asked, shrugging.

"You!" I cried, pointing accusingly at him. "You should! You know stuff!"

"And you should've told me about her earlier!" he argued right back, putting his hands on his hips.

"Okay," I admitted bitterly, turning away. "Well, in that vein, I saw her again today."

I told him in as few words as possible all about the incident in the tunnels, and how strange it had been. He listened with a clouded brow, obviously concerned.

"This girl," he said slowly after a pause, "she might be a puppet."

"Or maybe it's just the demon, messing with our heads."

Lack of information making him erratic, the Guide rushed upstairs to the book I'd stolen for him. Halfway up the stairs, he peered down towards me, looking concerned.

"Did she seem angry?" he asked, looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Who?" I asked, confused by his sudden change of subject.

"The librarian," he clarified. "Was she annoyed that you wanted the book?"

"_Oh_," I murmured, and began shaking my head resolutely. "No. Not at all."

The Guide narrowed his eyes, and I shifted away from his piercing gaze.

"Go upstairs and research or something!" I cried, waving him (and those freaky eyes) away.

He moved out of my sight as slowly as possible, still trying to read me with those scary brown eyes, as I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. Not soon enough he was gone, probably enthralled by his new lover, Little Miss Freaky Book. I wondered what'd happened to Miss 1000-Page Dictionary – that probably hadn't lasted long.

I paused, sinking onto the floor yet again, to admire the mayor's artworks. I was sitting opposite a carving of myself, looking far more heroic and confident that I'd ever done. This refined version of me was taking down an Eater of Worlds with the Arms Dealer, who was himself sporting a few more muscles than I remembered. Creative licence. It looked nothing like the actual battle. The segments of eater were coming at us, but we were very ready.

Nah . . . I was never that prepared.

It seemed like we were doing okay – considering that I had a splint on my leg and the Arms Dealer seemed to be missing a few chunks of himself – and I finally managed to hack through the creature's head. It roared in pain, a terrible screech that made me want to cover my ears, as it convulsed on the ground and wriggled in a horribly worm-like fashion. Then, of course, a second mouth revealed itself to me and what I thought had been a head reared itself yet again, ready for another go.

The Arms Dealer bolted, and I swore a blue streak.

Those hero-types in the carving didn't seem the kind to do that. They'd probably narrow their eyes, puff up their chests, and offer an almost clever one-liner in a gruff baritone before rising to face the challenge they'd been presented with. I laughed at the thought.

For the most part, the mayor's artworks were realistic and true to fact. Only in the situations where I was ready to scream like a little girl did he touch things up a bit. Maybe for his sake more than mine.

A sudden thought seizing me, I wandered down the hallway, back in time. There it was – my first Crystal Feast! I barely remembered the middle of my first winter, I was still brand new when it happened. There I was, in a snowball fight with the Guide. There's the present he gave me, and the equally suitable one I'd dumped on him. I wondered if they celebrated something similar in the middle of winter here.

That was a thought. I had to be here for the free food if they did.

It was kind of surreal, walking through my memories as depicted by someone else. I could tell he'd always struggled with the Guide's hair, so he was rarely in-shot, sometimes even half-obscured from view, as though he'd been sliced in two. It made me laugh as I went on, watching as the mayor cared less and less about hiding it, to the point where the Guide's whole head would be just outside the borders of his carving. In the background of one wide shot with all of my friends in it, the Guide was almost completely bald, with a little note written on his scalp that read "bloody hair". I couldn't blame him for giving up.

I remembered the paperwork he'd avoided through his craft, and realised that I'd never even met his long-suffering secretary. Perhaps I'd seen them around town without even realising – I'd been a massive thorn in their side for a few years now. I should probably apologise.

I frowned for a moment, staring up at one massive depiction of myself, holding a sword aloft in a pose I'd probably never imitate. I absent-mindedly pulled my glove off, running my fingers over the fine grooves. He'd put so much work into every one of them, naturally talented or no. I could see his skill working its way up as I moved along the hallway, always improving, never anything less than fantastic.

Had he ever even let anyone see most of these? If I'd so much as cut my name into a rock, I'd make sure that all the Terraria crew knew about it.

Terraria crew? That sounded so silly . . .

I liked it.

I clapped my hands together in delight at the thought, and simultaneously winced as a shooting pain reminded me of my damaged hand. I could never keep things like that in my mind, not when I was distracted. I was forever aggravating wounds, both old and new, some to the extent that they left scars they never should've.

To be honest, I'd kind of forgotten about the whole corrupted thing until that moment. It didn't matter, not really – there was no way it would affect how I did things, and it didn't bother me so much anymore. If anything, it was a bit obvious.

But it was still a secret. Something which I was keeping from the others, from the people that were there to support me.

I had to steady myself against a wall as a sudden realisation overtook me. I'd never told the mayor about the demon. There was a chance he'd seen it in his head, but the visions were sporadic and sometimes came years after they were supposed to, like the whole truth about what happened with the Eye.

"I should tell him," I mumbled, suddenly convinced of the fact.

Maybe she could meddle with minds, but I had to take that risk. He knew everything else about me, it was unfair not to tell him this.

I raced up the corridor with a sudden determination, taking the stairs three at a time (almost falling and breaking my leg, but let's leave that bit out). I was poised and ready to knock on the door to his office when I frowned in concentration.

Had this been my idea, or hers?

. . . It didn't make a difference, really.

Not bothering to announce myself, I barged into his office and greeted two harried figures with the phrase: "There's something I have to tell you."

The mayor, sighing resignedly, shook his head. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"


	38. New Memories

Sometimes life really can feel like a dream. But whether it is a fantasy or a nightmare depends on the life you live.

And, being a Hero, sometimes life really is Hell.

I'd decided to take the swordsmen out into the corruption, to keep them on their toes after they'd started training other people. The Guide had been up late researching (if he even slept at all), so I'd decided to teach him an important lesson about what caffeine means to heroes. It's a lifeline. If anything, I hoped that all the training would take our minds off what was happening with the mayor.

Turns out the baddies didn't get that memo.

Six devourers at once. During training. We finished them off in the end, but it's no wonder that someone got injured. And, for once, it wasn't me.

Why couldn't it have been me?

It was my job as a Hero to protect others, to take the blows for them. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had failed.

We ran for the medical clinic, Felix cradling the wounded man in his arms. All the swordsmen and I still had our swords out, and the Guide his gun. We crashed through a few villagers in our hurry, shouting for them to get out of the way, uncaring of the startled looks which we drew from passers-by.

Smashing through the door we demanded to be let into the ward, uncaring that the doctor was in the middle of her paperwork. All of us, making quite a spectacle of ourselves, burst into the room lined with beds, though few patients adorned them. I recognised one swordsman who had been badly battered in the battle with the goblins, though thankfully all of the others had recovered to the extent of being let out of the clinic, if not up and about – or rather, training in the corruption.

Until now.

Felix gently lay the wounded man down on a bed, opposite a startled woman who looked like she had just had her arm sewn back on (obviously an exaggeration, but she had had something done to her arm. She's hardly the Demolitionist) and I got my first chance to properly inspect the wounded man. I felt a lead weight settle in my chest as I recognised him as Robert. It took me a few seconds to place him, not because I had any trouble remembering him but because his face was all but drained of colour right to the roots of his brown hair, if not for the frightful injuries which he had sustained.

The side his armour had been pierced by the savage fangs of a devourer, and the skin was ripped and torn with the tell-tale signs of where it had tried to rip him open like a Crystal present. Blood smeared the surrounding area, dying his bronze armour crimson, and he was only just hanging tenaciously onto consciousness. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the doctor burst into the room, paperwork still in hand but potion at the ready. Robert took the potion like a man in the desert would a flask of water (like I had when lost in the desert on many occasions) and fell backwards with a sigh, seemingly free of the worst of the pain.

Handing Robert another potion and telling him to drink it whenever he felt it necessary, the doctor began removing the armour from around the wounds, bandages in hand, as Felix gently began sliding the swordsman's cloak from beneath him. I found myself unable to take my eyes off the proceedings nervously –the Guide less nervously and more looking forward to this lesson in anatomy – as the doctor took off his breastplate and the small shirt of chain-mail beneath, revealing simple civilian clothing. Teeth still gritted against the pain, Robert took another swig of the potion. Exchanging her paperwork for a pair of bandages, the doctor took a searching look around to find the room empty of everybody with any medical knowledge (despite that which I had obtained from years of observing – and of course hacking to pieces – zombies).

"Nurse! Scissors!" she called urgently, seemingly exasperated at the room being full of swordsmen when a patient was in such a critical situation. Acting on instinct rather than reason, I took a dagger from its sheath around my waist and handed it to her, hilt first.

The doctor blinked, hesitant to accept this strange gift, and even more so when she noticed the hand from which it was being given. I winced slightly as I realised that it was my bandaged hand which I held forward, and that the dagger's weight rested painfully against my charred skin. Coming to terms with it, the doctor accepted my dagger immediately, and used it to cut the fabric away from the wounds.

"This is my best top," hissed Robert through the pain, a small smirk playing on his face.

I decided that I liked him, even though I knew that was the potion talking. The way that someone reacts under massive pressure like being wounded can mean as much as their skill as a swordsman.

"Then I apologise," the doctor replied, seemingly impressed by her patient's stubborn resilience to the bleakness of his predicament. Having cut away the last of the fabric and exposing the last of the torn flesh, she placed the dagger on a sterile tray beside her along with the fabric.

The Guide winced despite himself, and I narrowed my eyes. It was bad. The fangs had pierced his skin, but had hopefully missed all of the important little bits inside him – his organs and whatever. They hadn't gone in all that deep, but had ripped his skin in a wide circle, at its deepest where the teeth had been but still a sorry sight on the parts of his skin which had been hidden by the armour and his brave face.

I looked up at the swordsman with a small frown.

"Why aren't you unconscious yet?" I asked, unsure whether I meant it as a compliment or a concerned remark. Robert gave a small laugh which turned into a wince and another swig of his potion. "I took a wound from a big devourer before, but it wasn't as bad as this. I was out like a light. If it weren't for the Arms Dealer close by, I'd be dead."

The doctor gave me a small nod, as if saying: "Good, keep him conscious. Keep talking."

". . . When did that happen?" Robert asked, closing his eyes against the pain. The Guide was glaring at me with a look which clearly read "Yeah, when did that happen?"

I paused, doing my best imitation of a breath for the sake of Robert's easiness and the doctor's peace of mind. I let the past take me up, but made sure that I kept reciting it rather than simply losing the present in it.

After all, I really felt like forgetting where I was.

_Well, I suppose it started when I woke up to the morning sun. Except there was no sun to speak of, and technically it wasn't a morning. No, it was long before that. I was fairly confident that the sun wasn't up, anyhow. The dark clouds which had been covering the horizon for what I assumed was a number of days did little to help matters. But to me, it was just another day._

_ Another damn corrupted day._

_ Or was it a corrupted night? An afternoon, even? I had made the mistake of going without a fob watch when packing my pouch what I assumed was a number of weeks beforehand. It could've been months. Maybe days. It was far too easy to lose time in a place like that._

_ I let out a groan as I felt the bandages wrapped around my leg the day before. For one blissful moment I had forgotten that I had fallen and hurt my leg badly while running from a pack of eaters. I could've taken them with the Light's Bane to be sure, but then they'd just keep coming . . ._

_ . . . And coming . . ._

_ And I'd be there for a ridiculous amount of time, so at some point I would've injured myself again. But then again, in the corruption a sprained ankle can mean your death as much as a bite to the head. You always need to be quick on your feet, ready to run, and able to run fast when you do. Because when you do, you need to._

_ Besides, being able to leap across an ebonstone abyss is always handy when you live in a landscape dotted with them._

_ So, anyway, when I had left the house the Arms Dealer had told me he was coming as well – but he never showed, and I couldn't help but wonder if something bad happened to him. I mean, sure, he's a big and tough guy, but guns can only get you so far in a place where swords are barely enough. Ammunition runs out – another reason I prefer swords to guns. Swords can dull, but never really stop._

__"Shut up, Guide," I interrupted, without needing to look over my shoulder to know that he had a finger raised and was ready to begin a long and boring argument with me.

_I picked myself up off the floor and adjusted the weight of my sword in its sheath on my back, drawing a throwing knife from my waist in case a typical corrupted scenario began playing itself out for the zillionth time. The typical corrupted scenario being:_

_ One: Walk out of the house half-awake and unprotected._

_ Two: Barely raise sword in time to block a sudden attack from an Eater of Souls/devourer._

_ Three: Receive a minor injury thanks to this but finish off the enemy in the end._

_ Four: Become somewhat impeded in your ability to escape other enemies which are likely to come flying at you._

_ Four simple steps which had ruined my day on a ridiculous number of occasions._

"I'm not trying to make you nervous," I added quickly, sensing that Robert was likely to make a sarcastic comment about morale despite his state. "It'd be completely different if a group of people were there with you."

"One would hope so," he replied with what might've been a forced grin as the doctor peeled away the last of the fabric and reached for her needle and silk with delicate hands.

_I did my best to get ready and reached for the door – which wasn't a door, by the way. It was just a bit of wood, jammed into a hole in the wall. But it kept the zombies out._

_ At first I was planning to go for this old eater nest I cleared out a while back, because there was some water at the bottom. But then I remembered that I'd scraped up the last few drops the day before, and would have to find somewhere else. Water was few and far between in the corruption, so my shelter was probably rendered moot._

_ The Arms Dealer was supposed to bring more food, as well. I was almost out._

"Robert," I added seriously, looking into his eyes, "don't eat rotten chunks."

"Chunks of what?" he asked, wincing and taking a desperate gulp of his potion.

"Of anything."

He laughed. The doctor pulled her needle taut, and he was cut short.

_So there I was. Corruption, barely sixteen, no food or water, alone. And suddenly I was running._

_ I hadn't really seen the eaters coming, even though I should've expected them. I didn't really have any idea where I was going, this whole area was new to me. The bad leg wasn't really helping me out much either, especially with all those eaters on my tail. They really come in swarms, don't they?_

_ So I kept running, as long as hard as I could, but the leg was getting worse and worse. In the end I give up and pull out some purification powder – which, of course, is totally useless without sunflowers. I was standing in this little pocket of calm, but it kept fizzling back out, and I couldn't really move from that spot. The eaters were surrounding me, getting more and more aggressive. I started to get that this was a bad idea._

_ Suddenly this manly voice shouts out "Get down!" all dramatic like. I know what's about to happen, and I hate it, so I lie flat on the ground and cover my ears. He's bloody well taking his sweet time, and I think I can feel something nibbling at my ankles when there's a hailstorm of bullets everywhere, and everything falls to the ground in very little pieces. I turn and there he is, the Arms Dealer, looking all impressive from a distance as he reloads his gun._

"What sort of gun?" the Guide asked.

"Huh?" I murmured, annoyed at his breaking my bubble. "I dunno, a gun. Does it matter?"

"_Seriously_?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "You remember exactly what you planned to do that day, but not what kind of gun he was using?"

"It was a gun. Now shut up and let's get back to the story."

Robert was chugging down his potion with increasing desperation, face pale and drawn. I couldn't tell if he could hear me anymore, but I continued.

_"I love it here," the idiot says, making his way towards me. "There's no shortage of things to kill."_

_ He offers out a hand to me, but I ignore it and get to my feet, 'cause he's a complete bloody psycho and I didn't need a hand up anyway. I know, I know, I probably had a broken leg, but who cares? He's still an arse. So this guy seems really offended by the fact I didn't need any help getting to my feet, and I'm seriously shaking with anger at this point, like I'm about to explode._

_ "Where the hell were you?" I shout, and he whirls around like he didn't see it coming. "I've been here for days!"_

_ "Whoa, whoa, calm down!" he cried like an idiot, because he is an idiot, and he always will be. "It's only been a few hours."_

_ He's obviously lying, but I can't really tell how long it's been, so there's no point arguing. I hate the bastard._

_ "Well, nevermind," I say, trying desperately to move on. "At least you brought the food."_

_ He looks away from me and grits his teeth. Which means something bad._

_ "You did, didn't you?" I say, with a voice that could cut stone into some really intricate shapes._

"What does that mean?" asked the Guide, his face all scrunched up.

I demonstrated.

He fell backwards off his chair. Even Robert managed a laugh before I kept going.

_So he doesn't have any food, we're stuck in the middle of the corruption, and he keeps shooting things for no reason and accusing me of overreacting. This is basically hell, even though I've been there. Suddenly these absolutely massive devourers come out of nowhere, and he has the bright idea of hauling the both of us down a massive ebonstone chasm, because I'm wearing my lucky horseshoe and he's just generally an idiot._

_ Picture it. Falling very slowly into darkness, a fully-grown man clinging to my leg with one arm, and holding desperately onto his gun with the other. I'm resisting the urge to shake him off and make a break for it, because it's basically the most awkward descent ever._

_ I light a torch – I'm the capable one here – and start exploring while he boasts about being able to handle anything but basically leaves all the real muscle to me. Underground corruption is anything but fun, but this guy can actually be quite funny when he wants to be. I don't actually remember any of the jokes he told me, but they were hilarious at the time, and I almost forgave him for what happened with the food._

_ Then the big guy practically smashes himself into this massive, suspicious-looking floating orb._

"Shadow orb," the Guide interjected unnecessarily.

"Yeah," I agreed. "My first." I was distracted momentarily by Robert's stitches – they were almost done, and he was barely conscious.

"So, what happened?" Felix urged, desperate for me to keep talking.

_ "I dare you to smash it," the Arms Dealer says._

_ "What? No." I say, trying to sound determined. "We don't know what it is."_

_ "So? Smash it."_

_ "No."_

_ "Why not? It might be fun!"_

_ "You smash it then."_

_ "Nuh-uh. You're broke."_

_ "What, you'll pay me?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ I consider. I mean, it's probably just some weird stone thing. Probably not essential to the corruption at all. I mean, that glowing thing it seems to do it probably just a trick of the non-existent light. It definitely isn't one of those shadow orbs that the Guide mentioned – not the ones which make super-powerful things happen, and can pull stars out of the sky. It's just some weird rock thing . . . unless it isn't._

_ "How much?" I ask._

_ "Five gold," he sniggers._

_ That settles it._

_ I get my hammer out of my pouch – the really big one that the Guide says is too dangerous – and I smash into the suspicious-looking orb. I don't have to hit very hard, and the whole thing just seems to fall apart, like smashing into a mirror. The fragments fall to the ground, and stop that weird glowing._

_ It takes me less than a second to realise I've done the wrong thing. This terrible chill goes down my spine, and even the Arms Dealer looks a bit put off. But then he spots that this thing, for whatever reason, actually dropped a gun and some ammo onto the ground when it shattered. I'm not interested in guns, but I can tell that he's just gonna try to sell them on, so we end up in an argument about who gets them. He's a brick wall, so I give up, and he hands over my five gold._

"Wait, wait, hang on," said the Guide, interrupting my story yet again. "I warned you about shadow orbs. Why the hell did you decide to smash it?"

"Five gold," I stated simply, as if that explained everything. "May I continue?"

"One more thing," he murmured, with an edge in his voice. "This is the Eater of Worlds we're talking about, right?"

"Mm-hmm," I agreed, rocking back and forth in my chair.

"You have to smash three shadow orbs to summon one of them."

"Yeeeeah," I agreed. "We're not up to that." He seemed about to argue, but I cut him off. "Fifteen gold, Guide!"

He probably gave up on me then and there. Robert, who was on his second potion, seemed to find the whole thing highly amusing. The Guide facing away from me, Felix looking sightly concerned, I pressed on.

_ So, we found this other orb, and basically the same thing happened, except these screams sort of echoed around the place when I shattered it. I know I should've taken the hint, but I was saving up for stuff._

_ Finally there was a third orb, but after the spine-tingling and echoing screams I told him that smashing all three would be a bad idea. Of course, he says that I'm just being a coward, and he goes on and on and on about the whole thing until I swing the hammer right at him, he ducks, and I end up smashing the shadow orb anyway._

_ He snatches up something called a vilethorn, and tosses it to me. Everything which doesn't fire bullets is useless, apparently. We both stand still for a moment, waiting for something to happen. The fact that it's quiet is almost as worrying as if it weren't._

_ "There," he says with wide eyes but a brave face, handing over my gold. "Y'see? Nothing to worry about."_

_ Then, of course, we hear this noise. It's a strange sound – almost like a devourer screech, but deeper and louder – and it seems to be coming from all around us. The Arms Dealer just freezes, clutching at his gun, and I swipe the torch off him. The last orb was in this little chamber we had to mine into, but neither of us thought to check the walls. And they're not stone._

_ I move closer. It's skin – grey and rough, unlike a normal devourer's blotches. This thing is ancient and ridiculously powerful. It's curled all around us, through gaps it created in the ebonstone. I move closer, hoping against hope that it might still be asleep. There seems to be an eye socket, and what I take for a head, but when I look around they're all over this thing._

_ Perhaps it was just talking in its sleep._

_ "What is it?" my idiot asks, loud as you like, and walks towards me. When he sees the thing he shrieks like a little girl and fires off a few rounds of his gun._

_ The eye snaps open, and this time it really, really _shrieks_._

_ We run straight out of there, clawing our way up out of the abyss. Being the proper gentleman he is, the Arms Dealer doesn't offer any help to the sixteen year old whose leg is in a splint. He takes care of the eaters with his gun, but it's not really them we're worried about – it's that strange sound like a rope uncoiling, except more organic, which is echoing from the depths. We reach the surface alright, he says something ridiculous about this being my fault, and we're finally at the part where I punch him in the face._

_ "That was an Eater of Worlds," I whisper as he scrambles to his feet, "and you just woke it up."_

_ For once, he doesn't talk back. I flex my hand, and realise what a bad idea it was to put one of my wrists out of business when we have to take down something that big. I apologised for punching him – don't ask why that was foremost on my mind, I just felt bad about it – and he says something I still remember._

_ "Nah, that's fine. I needed waking up."_

_ For a second I feel very confused, and then very sorry, but a heartbeat later my thoughts are interrupted by the absolutely massive devourer which shoots out of the ground and knocks me right off my feet. One of its fangs managed to lodge itself in my shoulder, and I'm thrown up into the air before I come crashing back down. There's terrible pain, blood, and a strange sense of calm. The Arms Dealer offloads a few shots into the absolutely massive thing, and rushes over to me._

_ Everything goes black for a few moments, but then there's a light behind my eyelids, and I cough up most of what was apparently a healing potion. I'm feeling a bit numb and tingly with potion sickness, and the world refuses to stop rocking back and forth. He's there, of course, trying to take down something a hundred times bigger than he is, never doubting that he can._

_ "Get up!" he shouts, and then he calls me something which makes my blood boil._

_ "Call me that one more time," I shout over the sound of the devourer, "and I'll shave off one of your eyebrows, while you're asleep!"_

_ He laughs, and I laugh, and I unsheathe my sword._

_ "You won't do any damage with that toothpick," he shouts, and I bristle again. "You need something long-range!"_

_ "Yeah? Well, maybe I–" I forgot I was holding the vilethorn, or that I didn't understand what it was, and when I raise an arm to gesture at the creature it goes off. These thorns shoot out of the tip, spraying everywhere, lodging themselves in the eater's skin and gouging through its flesh._

_ "That's what you need!" he laughs. "_Projectile_!"_

_ I'm done arguing for the day._

"Okay," said the doctor, sounding as though she'd heard enough. "All stitched up. Here, drink this." Robert obediently downed something which made him gag, but promptly fell asleep afterwards. "Let him rest."

As suddenly as we entered, we were all bustled out of the room.

We found ourselves in a long hallway lined with chairs, tinted white and blue in a surreal way. I'd never liked the smell which inhabited places like that – a kind of soapy, medical aroma. It just made me feel like they had something to hide.

I finished off my story as quickly as possible, making sure not to leave out the bit where my trusty friend bolted with two new muskets strapped across his back. The swordsmen began to trickle away, excusing themselves because of children or other commitments, until it was just me, the Guide and Felix waiting on Robert. The feeling of kinship and goodwill that normally followed all of us around was gone. I noted ruefully that some of the others hadn't even shown up for training, probably because of everything that had happened with the mayor. It was as if when they stopped believing in him, they stopped believing in me. Like I was just a figment of an old man's imagination.

That was a thought.

Felix said something about having to look after Amethyst and the Guide had to keep researching, but I barely acknowledged them. I couldn't shake the feeling that somehow this was all my fault, that if I hadn't taken them out for training then he never would've been hurt. I'd given Robert a taste of my life, a life which he had foolishly tried to imitate: the life of a hero. It wasn't fun, it wasn't lucky, it wasn't anything he'd imagined it to be. Even if he recovered just fine, he'd have scars for the rest of his life.

Just like me.

I felt tears start to well up in my eyes, full of emotions which I hadn't let myself express since I ran for the sunflowers. Not an acceptance that my life was unfair, but a cry of desperation that it was. A hopelessness in knowing that the life of a hero was bound to the fate of anybody that needed protecting, and that I had already taken enough blows to sustain the entire village, and that I would take more and more as the days went by. Hell, I'd only been in the new place for a few weeks and I already had a hole in my back and bruises all over to prove that point!

And someone was hurt. Someone that tried to help me out with that duty was hurt, because of me. Someone that wasn't a hero but tried to be.

I did my best to blink out the tears, but I knew that the red eyes and blotchy face which they resulted in couldn't be hidden. Maybe anybody looking would chalk it off to exhaustion – I was tired, after all. Clearing my throat, which was sore with emotion, I decided to try and find a bathroom and wash my face. I was about to stand up and start wandering when I realised something.

There had been a woman sitting further down the corridor, and I couldn't tell when she'd arrived.

She was quite pretty, contrasting pale skin and dark hair giving her a somewhat severe appearance, but seemed to blend into the background, like a figure beside the centrepiece in a painting. Plain clothes, hunched shoulders and a submissive demeanour did little to contradict that idea, to the extent that I felt sure she was sitting in a corner when her back was against a smooth wall. It was as though she'd been cut out of a background and glued into my reality, never quite meshing with the bright lights around her. I was probably so drawn to this woman because I stuck out like a sore thumb wherever I was, and she managed to do exactly the opposite. She would find a way to sit in the corner of a circular room, while I fidgeted awkwardly in the centre.

"Are you waiting for Robert?" I called out to her, and at that moment she seemed to come to life. Suddenly she was at the forefront, actually interacting with me, and I realised that she looked just like him.

"Yes," she answered in a meek voice, turning her attention back to the floor. "I'm his sister."

Somehow, I got the feeling that this was her title. Never herself, never her name, always someone's something. I admired that.

"I'm sorry he got hurt," I blurted out, immediately regretting it. "I mean, I know it's kind of my fault, because I took him out to train. If I hadn't then he wouldn't have got hurt, and . . ." Caught in her calm gaze, I feel like a bunny in torchlight.

"It's fine," she said with a small smile, and I could tell that it was.

Relegated to a complete silence, increasingly aware of my every movement, I sat back in my chair and tried to forget that she was there. But once I'd seen her, there was no pretending that she didn't exist.

I muttered something about having to go to the toilet, feeling big and loud and noisy, and made my way to the bathroom, where I splashed my face with cold water. Had she seen me come close to tears? That would be embarrassing.

Why did I care so much about what she thought? I didn't know. There was just something powerful about her. Had we met before?

Shrugging off the thought and drying my face, I made my way back into the corridor . . .

To be greeted with complete and utter chaos.

People were everywhere, shouting orders and running panicked, filling up chairs and being pushed around on stretchers. Someone was tolling a bell as if it was an alarm, and I couldn't catch sight of the woman from before. This wasn't the world she belonged in.

"Wha–" I began, and someone crashed into my shoulder, sending me sprawling. "Oi!" I shouted back, but there were too many people around to tell who it was. I realised that there were a few stretchers making their way into the room where Robert had been patched up, and the rest of the crowd were following them in. I spotted Felix, who seemed to be calming everyone down, and pushed my way towards him. His armour was gone, but the chainmail shirt remained, as if he'd been disturbed getting dressed.

"What's going on?" I asked, and he seemed relieved to see me.

"There was some kind of attack in the square," he told me, dealing with a few people at once. "Zombies. Just popped up from nowhere."

"From nowhere?" I asked incredulously. "They're not exactly renowned for stealth."

"Yeah, well, a few people were hurt," he said simply, making his way up onto a bench-top. "_Listen up, everyone_! There's no need to panic, the attackers have been taken care of. The only reason for any of you to be here is if you are closely related to one of the four that were injured. The rest of you, head home, and lock your doors until we figure out what happened. Alright, off you go!"

The crowd complied, talking among themselves and shuffling slowly away, until there were only a handful left.

"I don't get it," I told Felix honestly, as he clambered down from his perch. "Zombies don't just _happen_. Did anyone see anything strange?"

"You mean apart from the walking corpses?" He took a moment to calm himself, taking deep breaths. "Sorry. No, nothing strange. But this is a really bad situation. We don't know how they got here, and the mayor can't exactly calm everyone down while they all think he's gone senile."

"You don't believe that, do you?" I interrupted urgently, disturbed by the thought.

"What? No!" he laughed, smiling infectiously. "I've met you."

"Thanks," I said, very honestly.

"But who exactly is supposed to take charge here?"

"You!" I cried, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He stared at me like I'd grown two heads. "The people know you, they can rely on you. Get the swordsmen together, go door to door, tell everyone to stay inside. Then all of us patrol the streets, keeping an eye for anything strange, and we deal with it. Just like we're supposed to."

He looked right into my eyes for a few moments, as if struggling to cope with my words, but then nodded determinedly. "Alright. You go and tell the mayor, make sure he's okay with everything."

Not thinking through the fact that I had just been given an order, I made my way down the corridor with a mind that raced out of control. Could this be Duck? Was this her way of coming back?

I shook my head. No way.

But still, my mind wandered to that woman, who had been in the corner of a circular room. Why did she matter so much, and why didn't I doubt that? She was important, I could tell. I didn't even know her name, but Robert's sister stuck out in my memory. Someone's something, like the Hero's Guide . . .

The Guide had bloody better have uncovered something. I needed to have a plan for when Duck attacked. Something told me that a few zombies in the village square were just the beginning.

I had no idea how right I was.

**X X X**

**The first couple of paragraphs here were something I've had lying around for a while, so apologies if they don't quite mesh with the rest.**

** There might be a bombardment of chapters here – I've got something planned that needs to happen soon, so I'm sorry if everything happens very fast!**

** Thank you for reading, and happy holidays.**


	39. Five and Counting

I felt like I should be on edge, but was really a little bit bored.

I mean, I was happy to help out the villagers. Hanging around with the swordsmen was fun as well. But the suggestion that we should split up, despite its obvious tactical advantages, bored me to no end.

Who was I supposed to talk to? What was I supposed to do? The whole zombie thing was probably just a fluke. The whole scenario sounded pretty dodgy – how the hell were they supposed to just "appear"? Zombies make a lot of noise, and they move almost painfully slowly. Sure, they can be dangerous in hordes, but the idea of them not giving away their position with moans and groans when they're really far away is just silly.

What, were they stealth zombies? Special zombies trained in the art of secrecy? Or perhaps mage zombies, able to teleport right behind you at a second's notice.

Magical stealth zombies. Sounded likely. No more likely than an undead hero, of course.

I'd tried to get some more information from Felix about the whole thing, but he'd been so stressed out by all his new responsibility that I'd given him some space. The Guide, who would probably have an awful lot to say about this, was still inside and probably blissfully unaware of the whole situation.

As I kept wandering through empty streets, occasionally meeting curious eyes which peered out at me through curtains, I felt as though the day were never going to end. It could only be around midday, but though the whole Robert thing had exhausted me completely. Training in the corruption, coupled by the injury, compounded again by my constant walking made me so very tired. I hadn't slept amazingly well the previous night, either – I keep expecting a knife to fly at me from the shadows, to the extent that I kept my lights on all night. Then I started wondering if she could appear on the shadows behind my eyelids, and imagined the gruesome scenes that would follow.

Needless to say, sleeping wasn't easy. Neither was blinking.

That girl still haunted my mind – the way she'd seemed to helpless, so scared, and had tried to tell me something. Maybe it was just Duck, maybe she wanted to keep me distracted, but it got to the point where I really didn't care.

"Five," I thought aloud, understanding that no one would hear me. "Five . . . five what? Five zombies? No, there were four . . . Five people, five swords, five slimes living in the Guide's hair. Five houses destroyed by meteors, almost five years since I appeared, five pieces of hellstone in the bottom of my pouch . . . Nah, it's hopeless."

I swung my sword around carelessly, staring off into the distance. I was in some deserted alley, one of so many in a town that used to be a lot larger. There were so many stories here, ones that would never be carved in stone like mine. Simple lives that were so, so important, the pieces of a jigsaw that made up this landscape. Loose cobblestones that had brought skinned knees, childish drawings carved into walls. So many people forgotten, leaving behind empty beds, empty houses, empty eyes.

I was fighting for them. For Sarita's father, and so many of the others I'd never met. This wasn't a personal quest, or something I did for my own gain – this was a vendetta, against the corruption. For what it did to the townsfolk.

But who was I fighting?

Was Duck my enemy, or the Puppeteer itself? Were they the same creature? Could they be this land's version of the Eye?

Five . . . there had been four giant monsters in Terraria. Skeletron, the Eater of Worlds, my pal King Slime, and the other one. The nasty one. Maybe this land had five of those, and the Puppeteer was just one of them, not in charge at all. Perhaps there was no penultimate monster here – just five possessing equal strength and balancing out the darkness with my light.

I sat down in that dusty alleyway, thinking hard. It could be anything. What was I supposed to realise with just one word, no context?

Five gold for smashing a shadow orb. Five minutes in which I was dead. Little Alfie, five years old. Five potions on my first floating island. Five harpies circling when I descended into the village. Five babies born since I arrived here . . .

Could that be it? She'd said something about going after the kids. Maybe the babies would be first. That, in turn, could lead to something about the goblins, which enjoyed eating the little ones. It could mean the goblin chief, with the strange gifts he'd been given by my enemies. Really, once you started, there were a thousand different routes you could take, all of them making as much sense as the others. Five fingers on my hand, my corrupted hand, the corruption, eaters – a pack of eaters, flying into the village. That would do something to relieve my boredom, at least.

Standing up again and stretching, a sudden pain shot through my back. Bloody hell, would it never heal? Reaching absent-mindedly into my pouch and pulling out a home-brewed healing potion (stuff the Guide), I numbed the feeling pretty quickly. I started wandering again, but thought about how it would look for me to be seen with a potion, and put it away. I couldn't afford to lose face, not when I had so little left.

Eventually, I found myself in the spot where Duck had been shot. The Guide had got her good, and there was still a faint scarlet stain on the cobblestones. I ran my fingers along the dried blood, getting it under my fingernails. It was real blood; there was no question about that. She had actually been hurt – or at least had bled, if the whole scream thing was an act. But why the hell had bullets worked in the first place?

I had too many questions, and not enough answers.

"Guide," I said to myself, "you'd better have found something out. If you haven't, I'll shave off one of your eyebrows."

I wondered where I'd gotten that threat from. It seemed like the kind of thing that would upset the Guide, given how much he worries about his hair. Maybe his eyebrows weren't such a concern – but hair is hair, right? What would happen if I waxed one of his arms? That would be a rude awakening.

Interrupting my thoughts, a noise some way away. I stood up and started to run in its general direction, head swivelling from side to side, trying to figure out what it was. Then it sounded again – a frenzied shout in warning, followed by a male scream. I bolted as fast as I could on tired legs, finding myself in the village square once again. There was Felix, together with Kilgan and Graham, standing over what had once been a zombie but now rested in multiple pieces.

"Everyone okay?" I asked, looking from person to person. It didn't look like any of them had been hurt, but Joseph rested heavily on Graham's shoulder, apparently in shock.

"It came from nowhere," he breathed heavily as Graham forced him upright. "It was right behind me!" He swore loudly, sheathing his sword, and grimaced on looking at the remains of his zombie.

"Where were you?" Joseph asked suddenly, facing me with an unexpected intensity.

"What?" I took a step backwards. "We were supposed to split up! How was I supposed to know where it would appear?"

"You're a goddamned hero!" he cried, suddenly angry. "Can't you work it out?"

"Hey, guys, come on!" scolded Felix, with a glare that knocked them from their high horses. "It's not her fault."

"Yeah, well," he murmured, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I mean, after the mayor . . ." He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

I'd already lost one of the swordsmen.

**X X X **

**An Interlude**

Exhaustion. That was the word. Complete and utter mind-numbing exhaustion.

Was there a word for it? That sense of exhaustion so complete that you feel like you could sleep until midday and then some? Or just melt into a puddle on the ground, oblivious to the world? When your legs ache even though you haven't done a lot of running, and your concentration almost ceases to exist? That moment when life itself seems surreal, everything is too clear but not real enough, but if this isn't real then what is, and who cares anyway, because you're that tired?

I'll have to check the dictionary. There's a word for everything in there, must be. It's only about the weight of a small comet.

It wasn't dark, but it felt like it should've been. It was probably only about four in the

afternoon. Why wasn't it later? So much happened today. So much happens every day now.

Not that I resent it, of course. I love researching, and figuring out the ornate script which took up most of this new book was fascinating. Unfortunately, staring at the pages all day had given me a nasty headache, and my mind was also held captive by images of Robert's injury and of myself watching it happen. I'd been completely useless – just stopped and stared when I saw the devourer lunging for him, shocked by the finality of it. I could've reached for my gun, fired off a few shots – maybe that would've spared him the scars – but I didn't.

I loved books because they took my mind away from everything else, away from a harsh reality where I was about as useful as a paperweight. It wasn't working anymore – I couldn't lose myself in something I barely understood.

Heaving a deep and dramatic sigh, I breathed in the comforting smell of old books and stared accusingly down at the figure in the Puppeteer's illustration. There she was. The girl I'd shot, the same one that'd been in my best friend's head for so long. Her eyes glowed like embers, practically exuding a dark power. I still wasn't able to figure out if she was the monster herself, or perhaps only one of many bodies. And that warning, just a number . . . what did it mean?

Why hadn't I been able to figure anything out? I was rubbish. Taking a deep swig of cold coffee and grimacing at the taste, I stared down at the passage I'd been able to decipher. The introduction was easy enough – it was in a strange kind of handwriting and some words were obsolete, even by my standards – but after that it got really tough. I couldn't tell if it was just my tired brain, but it seemed that everything I divined in that archaic script no longer made sense, as though it was suddenly being written in a code. Scrunching up a sheet of paper, I started again, taking down letters as I came by them and trying to make sense of the results.

Something in my brain snapped. There. There it was. I stood up from my desk in anticipation, knees shaking with excitement. Yes, yes, I'd got it!

"Yes!" I shrieked, throwing my arms in the air. I jumped about the room, holding my papers aloft, delighted with myself. "Oh, I'm such an idiot," I laughed, landing on my bed with the world spinning. "Why didn't I see it sooner?"

"You got something?" came a tired voice from my doorframe, making me snap violently to attention and crumple some of my hard work. "_Good_," she laughed, looking like she was about to melt. Zelda68 came in, pulled up a chair, and rested her head on my desk.

"Well, not yet," I admitted, and a sharp glare met me horizontally. "But I will soon!" She mumbled, seemingly dissatisfied with this, but accepted the pillow I handed her with an uncustomary gratitude.

I set to work deciphering the code, marvelling at my earlier stupidity. It was so simple! They'd taken every letter and substituted it for another, but in alphabetical order. This specific code was five letters ahead. Had I really spent a whole night and day staring at this thing without realising? The thought made me laugh, and Zelda68 groaned. Afterwards I kept quiet.

Halfway through the first paragraph, something occurred to me. "Five letters," I muttered, causing our wise and precious hero to stare at me with tired and questioning eyes. "This code, the one they used. You take one letter and replace it with the one five letters ahead in the alphabet."

"I'm rubbish at letters," she mumbled, stuffing her face back into the pillow.

"No, but . . . five. You think that's important?"

She froze in her burrowing movement, considering. "Maybe," she agreed, relaxing again. "That'd be a thing."

"Yeah, it would . . ." I replied mindlessly, working again. "So, how was your day?"

"How d'you think?" she said simply, voice muffled by the pillow. "It's her, it has to be."

"Who?"

"Her, y'know. That one. The Puppeteer. I hear an alarm, I bolt, the zombie's already dead and no one's hurt. But then the swordsmen think I should've gotten there earlier, and the civilians doubt that I'm really a hero. It happened again and again and again . . ." She trailed off, leaving me to work. I didn't think to reply, too absorbed in the code-breaking.

"Got it!" I cried after about an hour, providing our hero with a rude awakening. She knocked me backwards lazily with a closed fist, and I didn't try to avoid it. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and stealing some of my coffee, she was back in the land of the living and ready to listen to the information I'd gathered.

"It's all a bit garbled, and I don't understand a few of the words–"

"How much does it hurt?"

"What?" I asked, blinking.

"To admit that."

". . . Oh, right. It burns." She nodded approvingly. "But anyway, it's very flowery and doesn't really get to the point, so I'm not sure about everything."

"Just tell me," she growled, that stone-cutting edge in her voice that made my heart skip a beat.

"Okay," I agreed, taking a deep breath and watching interest spark in her eyes. "First off, there's a limit to how many visions she can give you. It's to do with age, I think, but I can't tell if it means age as in how old you are or how long you've been around. Like, I'm seventeen, but I've only been here for . . . maybe five years."

"And I'm eighteen," she reminded me, and I nodded. "Older than you."

"Only by a few weeks!" I argued, bristling.

"Yeah, but still." She reached for my coffee, and I was again too distracted to argue.

"Anyway, how many times have you seen her? Maybe that'll tell us which it is."

Zelda68 sniffed, and put the mug down, and started counting off her fingers with a confused expression on her face. "Does just seeing her count, or does she need to have talked to me?"

"Talked!" I snapped, a switch flipping in my mind. "It says something here . . . 'to converse with the unknown'. So how many times have you talked with her?"

"Well, there was the floating island," she murmured, and I had to fight an urge not to ask questions. "Then Leaf's house, when I fainted. And when I came out of the hospital, just in the mayor's hallway." She was making a face. Was she keeping something from me? I resisted the urge to call her out on it, waiting for her to continue. "Then the whole goblin thing happened, and I didn't see her until after that ended. There was that time you shot her, of course, but I don't know if the thing in the tunnels counts."

"Four or five," I concluded, clapping my hands together in an attempt to forget the face she'd made. "So there'd be eighteen in total, which means you haven't seen the last of her yet."

"Eighteen?" she groaned, shocked at the idea. "That's way too many!"

"Well, if you play your cards right, she won't make it that far." Zelda68 nodded with a frown, and downed some more of my coffee. "That's mine, by the way," I reminded her, indicating the mug. She gave me a glare that could carve stone like that voice, and I decided to drop the topic.

"So," I continued, fear making my voice high-pitched, "you might be right about the villagers. Apparently she can manipulate people's feelings – well, the book says 'raise to attention our many doubts and fears', which I suppose means just amplifying what's already there. It's a classic way of discrediting someone: making their supporters doubt them. It's working on the mayor, and on you as well."

"Thanks," she murmured, apparently understanding.

"That's pretty much all I have for now," I admitted, turning the pages over in distraction. "I think the code changes, so it'll take a little while to figure out. But there is one thing – they used normal numerals, and there are about a million number fives."

"Five what?" she groaned, looking at me like I had the answers.

"I don't know, but it's important somehow."

Too tired to argue with me about it, she gave me a slap on the back and stood up, walking towards my door.

"That's it?!" I demanded incredulously, and she turned with bleary eyes. "I cracked the code!"

"Yes," she agreed, sounding confused. "Good job!" she added, giving me a thumbs-up.

I had just given up and was about to dedicate myself to another night's research, when the bedroom door flung open and someone came bursting in. Zelda68 jumped backwards, suddenly very awake, and my heart skipped a beat. It was Felix, still clad in armour, completely out of breath and with the reddest face I'd ever seen. He was laughing, smiling almost painfully, and had to take a moment with his hands on his knees before he looked up at us and doubled over once again.

"What the hell, Felix?" asked Zelda68, dropping her hand, which had risen to the hilt of her sword.

"I–it's," he managed to begin, but he started cackling again, and another swordsman barged in from behind him. There were a whole crowd of them out there, all as excited as Felix was.

"He's getting married!" cried Kilgan, inviting himself into my room. Our hero raised her arms in a half-hearted cheer, completely lost, and I cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, and . . .?" I indicated for him to continue.

"Tomorrow!" the man himself panted, happiness oozing from his every pore. "The mayor said! It's tomorrow!"

For one strange moment everything was completely still, then the silence was broken by an excited shout from Zelda68, who launched herself on Felix's neck and gave him a massive hug. Everyone started cheering again, and I almost felt compelled to join in.

"Congratulations!" I laughed, truly meaning it. I remembered what the mayor said about 'skipping the queue', but I hadn't expected it to be so sudden! Maybe the man was worried that he wouldn't hold that power for much longer – my smile almost fell at the thought.

"D'you know what that means?" asked a man with a sunburnt face and a broken arm (was his name Graham?).

"No, no, come on," insisted Felix, trying to stop him from announcing it.

"STAG NIGHT!" the whole group cheered gleefully, leaving us Terrarians completely out of the loop.

"What's that?" Zelda68 asked honestly, thankfully taking the burden away from me.

"Oh my god, you don't know?" asked one of the others, kneeling before her as if about to explain something to a child. "Basically, you get very drunk on the night before your wedding in this massive party, and all your mates are there. It's a real laugh!" They all cheered in unison again, and I couldn't help but join in.

"That sounds like fun!" said Zelda68, and all sorts of alarm bells went off in my head.

"No! What – no!" I cried, standing up. "You can't get drunk, you're the Hero of Terraria!"

"Yeah right," someone cried, and a few others agreed. Zelda68 turned to scold them, but couldn't tell who it was, and soon it was all lost in the general good mood.

"Who says I'll get drunk?" she asked, turning to me with an eyebrow raised (fighting me with me). "I'm just . . . going out to a tavern with some mates." They all cheered again, and started off down the hallway, a bustle of noise and excitement.

"Fine!" I shouted, annoyed at both her and myself. "See if I care! I'll just be here, doing all the work!" She turned like a shot, and came right towards me, hands on both my shoulders.

"Guide," she said, looking concerned, "you've done enough for now, and this is a chance to relax. I'll give you two options." She raised her fingers appropriately. "One: come out with us and have some fun. Two: stay here, and get enough sleep for the both of us."

"I can't let you go out alone!" I protested desperately, trying to make her see reason. "It might be dangerous!"

She just looked at me, that bloody one-mindedness ever-present in her shining blue eyes. There was only one option, and I could see that.

Time to go on a stag night.

And so I joined the crowd of burly and enthusiastic men, accompanied by an equally burly and enthusiastic teenage girl. Somehow, I wasn't tired anymore. Who knew – maybe it'd even be some fun!

7


	40. Consequences

The first thought that ran through my mind as I regained consciousness was that I had made some bad decisions. In my time, that's happened a lot. I built a skybridge just to look for a pouch. I forgot the Guide's birthday almost every year. Once, I drained a lake by accident – the one which we used to fish in, too. But nothing, I'm sure, could compare to how I felt that day.

I was sore all over, and my head pounded like it had the morning after I snuck into the Demolitionist's liquor cabinet. I was lying face-down on something hard and sturdy, and a throbbing pain emitted from my right hand (the one which was supposed to be okay). Realising what a bad idea waking up had been, I groaned weakly and scrunched my eyes shut. For what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, I tried to fall back to sleep – or perhaps lapse again into unconsciousness.

I eventually gave up, and shifted my knees under my chest, straightening up so that I could sit on my knees. As soon as I did, the world began to rock, and I could feel my gorge rise. Covering my mouth and trying to get my gag reflex under control, I found that swallowing the stuff down didn't help with my feeling sickly. I took some deep breaths of fresh air and spat onto the ground, hoping to get that disgusting taste out of my mouth, and opened my eyes to impossible bright lights.

There was a green blur on the periphery of my vision, something I couldn't work out, and what seemed like a pillar of white light revealed itself to be a window as I blinked blearily. One hand clasped onto my forehead, trying to stop the irrationally loud pounding noise which was causing me so much pain, I looked around. I was in the tavern – which was a shock for a few seconds, until I realised it made some kind of sense. I'd been unconscious on the floor, and probably fallen that way at some point in the night.

In the night . . . what had happened last night?

I glanced around, and saw a number of swordsmen in roughly the same position I had been. Kilgan, Joseph and a couple of others were well and truly unconscious, some clasping beer glasses in their hands almost comically. Graham, who apparently was more accustomed to this sort of thing (a _tavern_ after the _battle_) was nursing his head in one of the little booths, doing a zombie impression. On seeing me, he smiled and gave a well-meaning chuckle.

"First hangover, kid?" he asked, sympathy in his eyes. I blinked at the sudden realisation.

"Hangover," I repeated, tasting the word mixed in with my sick. It was a sensation I wasn't likely to forget, and probably enough to keep me sober for many years to come.

Oh, right. The stag night.

Graham squinted for a moment, looking at me anew, head tilting to the side. Then his eyes widened, apparently having come to a realisation, and he began to laugh uncontrollably.

"What?" I asked as the others started stirring, all groaning just as I had. "And where's Felix?"

"Went to get his tux fitted," he informed me as he sipped at a glass of water, and I was too bewildered to ask him what a tux was.

Trying to shake my head free of the green haze which assaulted my eyes, I turned to the door of the tavern, and realised that the banging in my head wasn't mine alone. Stumbling gracelessly on my knees, I made my way to the door, which had been blocked up by a chair for some reason.

"Wait," I called out through a raw throat as I began to pull away the chair. I opened the door and there, of course, stood a completely sober Guide. He was a vision of cleanliness and sophistication, even holding an old and tattered book to complete the picture. The only thing which gave him away was the dark circles under his eyes, probably unmatched by mine. He seemed to spot something over my shoulder, and gave an unnecessarily dramatic gasp, covering his mouth with a book while he blushed.

"What?" I demanded, already hopelessly tired. He just stared with that fish-like expression under my withering glare, and refused to say anything for a little while.

". . . W-well, I, er . . ." He trailed off again, and I groaned, frustrated at him. "It's just, erm . . . it's nothing."

"Just – just say the thing!" I urged, using a table to support myself up. I realised that my sore hand had bloodied knuckles, and I'd probably managed to break a couple of fingers. Had I punched someone? I hoped they deserved it.

He fumbled over his words for a bit, shaking his head to clear it, and then took a deep breath. "The wedding's in two hours, I thought I'd better wake you," he finally got out, stable words contradicted by his wide eyes. "We need to go and find a tux for me, and a dress for you."

"Dress?" I slurred, managing to stand up straight. "No. I don't wear dresses."

"Well . . . maybe that's not what you should be worrying about."

"Hmm?" I murmured, walking towards him with a frown etched onto my forehead. "Just say the thing. Stop being all weird."

"You, erm . . ." he began, silently raising his book like a shield. "You don't really . . . care about your hair, do you?"

"No," I said slowly, staring right into those nervous eyes. "That's you you're thinking about. Why? Do I have to get it done for the wedding?"

"Well, maybe," he spluttered, taking a step backwards.

"What's up with you?" I asked, just as a door slammed shut behind the bar, and everyone groaned simultaneously.

"Right," shouted a woman I guessed was the barmaid, "you're gonna pay up, clean up, and get out. There's a wedding to get to, remember?"

This started a few minutes of fumbling in purses, denial about how much we'd drank, and concerned stares from everyone who wasn't me. It was like they knew something I didn't – was it to do with my bloodied knuckles? Did they remember more than me? As soon as they coughed up, everyone seemed eager to leave and get dressed fancy, or return to scolding partners and children.

Slivers of memory started to come back to me as I sipped at my healing potion, trying desperately to clear my head. Laughing and drinking into the small hours of the morning, telling stories and forgetting most of the nasty things they thought about me. At one point someone had tried to braid my hair, which was a laugh, and then another person who had a little girl took over, but to no avail. I ran my fingers through my hair, wondering if it was messed up, and the swordsmen next to me bolted with no warning.

What was up with everyone today? Did my being hung-over mean the world had gone insane?

For a moment I froze, an uncertain reality creeping up on me. My hair . . . there was something up with my hair. It felt thinner than usual, sleeker, and that green haze refused to leave the peripheries of my vision. I stood stock still, thinking about what I could remember. After the braiding thing, we'd all gone somewhere, and someone had done something. They stood out in my memory as a blur of pink, reminding me of Abigail, but perhaps this was a deeper colour.

Now, I didn't care about my hair anywhere near as much as the Guide did, but this whole situation still made me feel violated. Hair was just one of those things you saw every day, which you had to take care of, something that greeted you every time you looked in a mirror. The idea of it being different wouldn't usually bother me, but on the day of a wedding too . . .

"Can I borrow a mirror?" I asked the barmaid, and she shook her head disapprovingly before reaching behind the counter, passing one over.

"Hey, hey, hey!" cried the Guide, racing over to my side. "Maybe you don't wanna do that!"

It was too late. I had seen hell.

Almost dropping the mirror in shock, I stared blankly at the reflection. It couldn't be me. Sure, there were my bloodshot eyes, with suitable bags beneath them. There was my nose, looking just generally like my nose. And there was a mouth, lips parted with shock, all belonging to a face that was as pale and drawn as mine ever was. But the hair, that wasn't mine.

That hair was a bit shorter than mine, and had been thinned out in a strange way. It was styled all fancy, small braids sweeping through it, ready for a wedding – if it weren't for the other thing, I'd be ready to accept that and move on.

"Ah, right," said the Guide, backing away from me. "That was what I wanted to say. D'you know, I forgot–" I cut him off by grabbing his shirtfront and pulling him forwards, making him look at the mirror.

That hair was green.

I must've held him in place for a good minute, while the barmaid waited patiently with a big grin on her face. I regained my composure, handed back the mirror, and thanked her in an icy voice.

"Guide," I said, perfectly clear and dangerously quiet, "when did this happen?"

"Well, last night," he admitted, the fear of god in his eyes.

"Yes, but where in the village did I have this done?"

"I don't know, I went off to the hen ni–"

"Where might this have happened?" I asked, eyes meeting his with a fierce intensity while he said a quiet prayer.

"I'd try the stylist," suggested the barmaid, not put off by my rock-carving voice. "She's just off the square, near the grocer's."

"Okay," I replied coldly. "Thank you."

And so, dragging the Guide behind me by his shirtfront and attracting the gazes of many villagers, I made my way towards the stylist's shop.

"Why are we going there?" he asked innocently, taking off what was apparently a new scarf.

"She must be able to undo this," I muttered determinedly. "If she did it, she can undo it."

"Sure, of course," he agreed, sounding anything but certain.

I flinched as something touched my forehead, and whirled around to face him. Although I was seething with anger, he continued wrapping his scarf around my head, until you couldn't really see my hair. Deflating with a sigh, I gave him a smile and a half-hearted punch on the shoulder.

"What was that for?" he asked, rubbing something that certainly wouldn't bruise.

"Letting me get drunk," I answered easily, and his lopsided smile was back.

Maybe it was the hangover, or perhaps just stress, but one thought echoed through my mind.

Where would I be without him?

Shaking away that thought and all of its implications, I stopped to observe the stylist's place. The barmaid hadn't mentioned a name, but I could imagine it would be something flowery of many syllables just by looking at the building. The shop (if that was what I should call it) didn't have a name – simply a sign above the door reading "Stylist", and a small advertisement in the window: "If she can't fix it, it can't be fixed!" which just put me in mind of a handyman. Garish magenta and dark blue colours fought for supremacy on its outer shell, and peering inside didn't seem much better. I could see a number of sinister chairs, like something a surgeon might use, lining a wall of mirrors in a very dim room. The windows were dusty, but the door well-used, which gave an impression of effortless talent perhaps not matched by revenue.

I knocked again, but no one answered. I couldn't see any kind of movement inside, only my reflection in the pink-rimmed windows. "Hello?" I shouted desperately, knocking even harder. What if she was out? What if she couldn't help me? The Guide cleared his throat to draw my attention and pointed towards a notice on the door: "For service, please ring the bell!" I failed to see how that would draw attention more easily than my knocking, but pulled down on a bell-rope anyway, and a shrill sound echoed through my tired head. The door opened with less than a second's notice, and I was greeted by one of the strangest women I've ever met.

The stylist wasn't quite there. It was an impression I would never be able to shake, no matter what. Her pale green eyes never quite met yours, lids always half drawn down and complimented by formidable winged eyeliner that didn't particularly suit her. Magenta hair tumbled down her shoulders in beautiful waves, always in a perfect shape that I would never be able to imitate. Her blue dress was probably terribly expensive and showed her off incredibly, but somehow never seemed to fit right, as though it was an idea which hadn't quite been brought to fruition. Even the blue bow which rested in her hair was perfect in a vague sort of way, its dreamy colour matching the expression which she always wore – like she was happy, but not sure why. She never focused, which seemed a bit dangerous when she was holding scissors (as she was when we met that morning), but it was something you got used to.

Never vain, always vague. That was the stylist.

"Hello dear," she greeted me sweetly, not addressing the fact that she had apparently been waiting behind the door. "All recovered from last night, I hope." I opened my mouth to answer, but she didn't seem to notice. "That's a new look! Very brave. Maybe not for a wedding, though?" I realised she was talking about the scarf, and once again made to speak, but she was off. "Come in out of the cold, you must be freezing!" And once again, before I could comply, she grabbed me by the arm with purple nails and pulled me into her salon, leaving the Guide outside.

As I entered and she shut the door behind me, all of my senses were gripped by an entirely unique odour. Some strange artificial scent had evidently been a problem before, because she had attempted to cover it up with an equally overpowering smell of wildflowers, resulting in a strange assault on the nose which would've made me hack up half a lung – if they cared enough to move, that is. She moved very quickly with a constant barrage of statements that I didn't have time to argue with, turning on the lights one by one until the place was bright as day. I wondered why she hadn't left them on for herself anyway, but the thought obviously hadn't occurred to her, and soon I was guided down into a chair.

"Now, sweetheart," she said, acting like she knew me (who knows, perhaps she did), "what would you like done?" As ever, she paused for just a moment between questions I apparently wasn't supposed to answer. "I could do a pixie cut, that might be nice. Wedding, wedding . . . what would suit a wedding? Do you think the braids are too much, or should I leave them? You kind of look like a dryad, maybe a bit less green. Tea? Coffee? Or is it just orange juice again?" Since when had I drunk orange juice? But she handed me a cup all the same, and I managed to get a few words in.

"I'd just like you to put it back how it was," I stated simply.

"Oh, honey, I think we can do a little more than that . . ." she argued, picking up another pair of scissors and inspecting my head. "I could do a fringe – that would frame the face nicely. You have to do something about the colour, last night it was far too dull. Dark hair is very stylish, but halfway between black and brown? Commit, darling, commit! So we get rid of some green, dye the rest black, hmm? I can keep it simple, style a bit, but it'll all go back after the wedding. Shoulder-length might be a bit too much, so we'll trim things up a bit and give you some nice highlights. It might be a bit of a contrast, but let's see how it turns out, and if that's no good I'll get rid of it all for free. Deal?"

She pointed her scissors at me as a cue to speak, and I was shocked about suddenly being given a choice in the matter. The stylist certainly seemed to know what she was talking about, but I'd never really had anything done to my hair before, and the green was shock enough.

"How much will it cost?" I reasoned, and she snipped her scissors in thought. Her other hand started to play around with them and I winced, thinking of sliced fingertips.

"For our hero?" she thought aloud, taking me by surprise. "Well, you're why I'm here in the first place . . . I'll give you fifty percent off! That comes to four gold, dearie."

"Four–!" I began, cutting myself off. "But, sorry, what do you mean?"

"It's in the title, sunshine," she said with a vacant smile. "Stylist – as in the Hero's. Now, where'd I put that dye removal stuff?"

"Why would I need a stylist?" I blurted after her, completely lost.

Her head popped back into view, giving me a sympathetic look. "Aww, hun," she purred, reaching for her dyes.

And so I descended into a flurry of small talk, magenta hair and burning scalps, using orange juice to wash an unpleasant taste out of my mouth. Soon the hangover was a distant dream, and I felt as though this was everything I'd ever known. The Stylist would contradict what she was about to do with no warning, leaving me with almost no control over what happened and desperately hoping she hadn't lost the plot completely. Sometimes my hair seemed somehow longer or shorter than it was when I first came in, but she changed things up so fast it was hard to tell. I asked her a few questions – how she got here, when she arrived, why I hadn't seen her before – but she seemed unintentionally cryptic, like she wasn't quite sure herself. The only simple answer I got was about why she hadn't been in the church when the goblins attacked.

"Oh, we keep ourselves to ourselves, dear," she informed me, making some alarming noises with her scissors. "I was ready for them!"

I didn't doubt that, but I was a lot more concerned about who "we" was.

The strangest things happened to my hair in that room which smelled of artificial flowers. She would settle on the dye, leave me sitting still for exactly twenty-five minutes (always arriving exactly on time, although she didn't seem to have a watch), and then change her mind again. I must've been in there for hours, losing all sense of time and self, until she seemed happy with what she'd achieved.

It was pretty much what she'd decided on when I first walked in. My hair was a little shorter, on parallel with my armpits, and not straightened in a way which was true to before. The under-layer of my hair was darker than before, black instead of the very dark brown which I was so used to, and a thinner layer on the top remained green, all the way to my scalp. It was nowhere near as overpowering as it had been before, and the black shone through, giving it a nice mixed look.

"It's still very . . . green," I admitted, unsure.

"Oh, honey, that isn't green!" she laughed, and I had no idea what she meant. "But I see what you mean . . . I know!" Without warning, she started over again.

When it was done for the second time, everything was the same, except the under-layer was green with black on top, basically reversed, and a bit shorter – just brushing my shoulders. The idea of green being hidden behind black was a lot more pleasing to the eye than colour dumped on top, and it worked well. She'd always styled it a little bit in some gentle waves, after deciding that having hair up just didn't suit me (despite the fact it was what I did most of the time). I wasn't used to being dressed up in any way, shape or form, but I felt very happy with myself in admitting it looked nice. I'd honestly never given much thought to my appearance, but knowing that things were in shape was good.

"It's very nice!" I agreed, adding as an afterthought: "Still green, though."

"Go out into the corruption," she said, waving dismissively at me.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked, lost once again.

"No, honestly!" she laughed, snatching four gold coins out of my purse. "And, just because you were such a good gossip, when everything's over I'll make it less flash for you. Low-maintenance. You have fun, now!"

Apparently having been dismissed, wondering how barely getting a word in made me a good gossip, I stepped back out into the cold with the knowledge that I looked pretty good. The Guide (bless him) was still waiting for me, teeth clenched and shivering against the cold. Apparently some kind passer-by had lent him a jumper because of that lost rabbit look, but it wasn't doing much against the cold wind. He looked up desperately, a grin split his face and sparks flew inside his eyes.

"You look lovely!" he laughed, eyeing my black-green hair. "Nice save, too."

"I like it," I admitted, playing with the bob. Church bells sounded nearby, and I jumped out of my skin.

"Not our wedding," he told me, laying a hand on my arm. "There are three today, we're sandwiched in the middle. But you were in there a few hours, so we'd better hurry!"

"To do what?" I asked, walking after him as he started wandering off. "I thought we were done!"

"We need some nice clothes!"

**X X X **

I shuffled out of one dress, and tried another on. This was hopeless. Either they didn't cover my arms, which apparently were too muscly to fit with a dress, or they managed to expose some of my worst scars – ordinarily I would be fine with that, but the Guide apparently wasn't.

It was a yellow wedding, he'd told me, like sunflowers. He picked out a bunch of dresses, handed them to me, and promptly abandoned me in a changing room to go and get a suit fitted. It was easy enough for him – pretty much all suits looked the same, and had to be black – but I'd never worn a dress before and had no idea how to make it work. Some of them were distractingly short, bringing all attention towards my leg hair, which I was never going to shave off. The Guide brought me stockings, which made my hairs stick out like a prickly cactus.

"Stuff this," I told myself, being disappointed by my reflection for the zillionth time. "I wanna wear a suit."

Once again, I wondered over how he talked me into picking a dress in the first place. It was traditional, but I didn't really care about that. If he could wear a suit, so could I. I might even pull it off, too. But he'd said something interesting. I pulled the words to mind, trying to convince myself again.

_ "I get that you're not the feminine type, but listen to this. Just imagine, for one day, that dresses aren't a dainty sort of thing. Think that they're something you can use for easy movement, so that you can take down some serious monsters. Picture yourself sitting at a bar, being a general badass, in a dress. It doesn't make you any less than who you are now – in fact, it empowers you. I'm not saying you make it a thing, you should be able to wear whatever you want, but just this once _please_ fit in. We can't afford to keep sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs, not when everyone thinks the mayor's idea of Terraria is a fairy story. Come on, please make a compromise. Just try a couple on."_

And so I'd given in, and was currently suffering. Perhaps he was right, and I could make a compromise . . .

I had it! A nice yellow skirt, and a formal-looking shirt. That sounded like me.

I slipped back into my pants and shirt with ease, and commenced struggling with the hangers of the dresses. I stepped outside of the changing room, and completely froze. There he was, my Guide, spiky hair and all, wearing a suit.

"Oh," I murmured, covering my hands with my mouth, looking him up and down. It fit very well, giving him a fine-cut look that had previously only existed in his hair. He stood to attention, obviously quite proud of himself, rigid as the boards I'd slept on the night before. The shirt was the whitest I'd ever seen, the suit an incredibly sharp black, all capped off with a little bowtie fixed neatly around his neck.

"Oh my god," I said, eyes incredibly wide.

And then I burst out laughing.

After taking a moment to calm down, I looked at the bowtie again, and my hysterics could no longer be contained. It would've made quite a scene if anyone was watching – a put-off boy in a suit attempting to contain the laughter of a girl in skivvies – but I just couldn't stop myself. Flashbacks to the time I'd seen a zombie wearing a bowtie overtook me, and I found myself repeating the same line I'd used between gasps back then: "Hey mate, going somewhere nice?" which the Guide didn't understand at all.

"Come on then," I managed to say, straightening myself up. "We're gonna find a nice skirt."

"Skirt? But I thought–"

I turned on him, eyebrow raised. "Did you really?"

And so, straightening up his hair once again, the Guide resigned himself to helping me find a skirt. To be honest, I didn't really mind wearing it anymore, not while he was dressed up like a toy soldier.

Besides, yellow would look good on me.

8


	41. What a Lovely Wedding

**An Interlude**

My palms were sweating, and I hated myself for it. Why sweaty palms in this beautiful dress? Why did my body have to betray me like that? If it weren't for the sweaty palms and the red face, people would never guess that I was nervous. Actually, maybe my quick breaths would give it away, as my heart fluttered like a butterfly. I tried to steady out my breathing, placing a hand on my chest, and almost jumped out of my skin as someone placed a hand over mine.

"What's the matter, darling?" Mum asked, perfect in every way. Her smile always looked sad, even when she was happy. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," I replied automatically, not believing it for a second.

I stared into the mirror in front of us for a moment, inspecting myself. A pretty dress in my favourite colour, simple flower motifs printed all over it. The thing reached down below my knees, almost meeting a pair of simple white shoes. I'd gotten a haircut from that strange woman off the square, putting things a bit more under control than they usually were. Behind my ear, outlined by the frizzy red, was a small sunflower.

I'd always grappled with mirrors, because looking at my face was something I never got used to. I would find myself staring at them for no reason, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the person in the reflection was me, but could never quite manage it. As vain as it sounded, the idea that I was a person was a strange one, especially considering that the girl in the reflection was what everyone else saw when they looked at me. As hard as I tried, I could never quite remember her face, and was always a little disappointed when I saw it again. I felt like that face was holding me down somehow, even though people told me it was pretty. Without it, I might not feel so tethered to my body, might feel a lot less nervous and a lot freer. I wouldn't look in mirrors nearly so much, anyway. It made people think I was vain.

I wasn't vain. Just confused.

"Sarita," Mum started, obviously understanding that I was feeling off, "I know that this is big. It came out of the blue, and it'll take some getting used to, but please try and put on a brave face." I blinked, surprised, and looked up into her hazel eyes. That wasn't what I expected to hear. "I need you to be there for me today, alright? When it's all over we can talk this through, but we haven't got a lot of time."

A million thoughts raced through my head. "But Mum, I–"

"Five minutes," interrupted one of her friends, peeking into my bedroom and then ducking out again. When my mother turned to look at me again, I could see that she was going through the same doubts as me.

"This'll fix things," she said, kneeling down before me. "Our little family, we've been through a lot, and people mustn't think much of us. I know all of that doesn't matter to you, but you have to understand we must be careful now." She paused, letting her words sink in.

"You mean the whole thing with the mayor?" I asked, a little scared.

"That, and other things," she clarified, taking a breath. "Little Amethyst . . . dear, we weren't married then. It's a blessing that we're both still here after that, and the people who would want us gone have the power now. We have to fit in." I opened my mouth to argue, but she shook her head with stress. "I know that you're different, dear, and I accept that, I really do. It took me a while, and I'm sorry for that, but I was just worried about you. You can't," she stopped for a moment, finding the right words, "end up . . . like him."

End up? What did she mean end up? We didn't know for sure that he was dead, and she was about to marry someone else. What about when he came back? So long out of touch, expecting her to wait, and finding her married to his best friend? The idea made me want to shout.

"But Mum, none of that matters!" I cried desperately. "We have a hero now, even if people don't believe it! Nothing can happen to me while she's my friend, and not giving in is the whole point! It doesn't matter whether we survive or not if we give up what we believe in, like _they_ want us to!"

"Please, please, dear, be quiet." She clamped a hand over my mouth desperately, checking whether anyone had heard. Mum took a shaky breath out, worry lines seeping into her face, and looked at me again. "Belief is the whole problem, darling. I just need you to keep quiet, please. I need you to give me over; I don't have any other family left."

I couldn't argue with her honest face, my mind wandering to grandparents I'd never met. She'd built her own little life, and wasn't ready to support my tearing it down. Just like me, really.

"Okay," I acquiesced, butterflies in my stomach again. "Is it okay if I cry?"

"That's always okay, darling," she laughed, tears in her own eyes.

We hugged, for the first time since I told her I was an atheist. It felt nice.

"Okay girls, we've gotta make a move!" announced one of the bridesmaids, sticking her face through the doorframe. "No time for cold feet, you're about to get married!"

"Not me," I reminded her, and Mum pulled out a handkerchief to wipe our faces. I wondered for a moment how she'd managed to secret it away in her wedding dress, but then remembered not to question how she always managed to have one on her.

"Brave face, dear," she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. "You look very pretty."

I didn't look into the mirror, so that I would believe her.

One by one, we filed out of the house, making our way towards the village square. The three bridesmaids, in their matching sunshine-yellow dresses, ran ahead to announce our arrival at the church. The streets were almost empty – most people were probably inside after yesterday's scares. I stared up at Mum as we walked slowly forwards, admiring the way her hair was so elaborately piled on top of her head (that stylist worked wonders – it seemed to be longer than ever!), as compared to my frizzy bush. We kept moving at a steady pace, hoping that everyone in the church would be ready for us, even though we were traditionally late.

"Who do you think'll be there?" I asked her as we merged off our street and into the square.

"There'll be most of the swordsmen," she thought aloud, considering. "I don't know if Robert can make it, since he got hurt yesterday. We'll have to bring him flowers. The bridesmaids too, of course. That lady who did your hair might come. I sent an invite to Leaf, but I don't know if he'll be interested. That funny goblin, he seems nice, and I don't know if Lucinda will make it."

"That's an even dozen," I noted, not surprised at the low turnout. "Oh, but Mum–"

"I invited your friends, yes," she said with a secret smile. "Let's hope they don't burn the place down." I couldn't help but laugh, and she seemed grateful. A baby's cry sounded from inside the church, echoing out to us. We looked at each other in unison, understanding completely. "Let's not forget your little sister, of course."

"No forgetting Amy," I agreed.

The wailing seemed to calm – she'd probably been given to her father. I wondered for a moment who had been holding her before, but all thought was banished from my mind as those impressive double-doors loomed into view, beckoning us to a ceremony that would change everything.

"Brave face," said Mum, looking as scared as me. "Brave heart."

Breaking the moment, two people came rushing past us, obviously worried they wouldn't get inside before me and Mum. It took me more than a few seconds to recognise them – a girl wearing a nice skirt, posh blouse and jacket, together with a suited Guide. Had he invited someone, and why was her hair green? She seemed to be carrying a wooden tray full of sand, and was having trouble lugging it up the stairs. I realised that there was only one person that could be, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Hiya," said Zelda68 quietly, giving us a guilty wave. "Sorry we're late! You're looking nice."

Both of us were speechless, the same expression of disbelief on our faces. Then they disappeared inside, leaving us with a hundred more questions than we had a moment ago.

Mum sighed, shaking her head, and steadied herself for the final few steps of a very long journey. My palms grew sweaty again, and I let go of her hand to rub mine against the new dress. She took my arm and entwined hers in it, instructing for me to take a deep breath as she did.

"Ready?" she asked, trying to hide her worry lines.

"Ready," I lied, my voice cracking with emotion.

We began ascending the steps, but they may as well have been a mountain. My heart was pounding so hard I felt light-headed, and I promised myself not to faint again. If Mum felt the same way I did, she was very good at hiding it, but maybe that was just the brave face she'd mentioned. Sensations pounded through me, all very discouraging. Sweaty palms, heavy legs, dizziness, blushing – I had them all. It was like I had been caught outside in a storm, and the only thing keeping me from being whisked away was my mother's arm.

As we looked into the church, there were a few seconds of calm. Being given new surroundings provided me with welcome distractions, and seemed to temper the storm. Most of the pews were empty, a few familiar faces turning to look at us with open curiosity. I could spot the Tinkerer, Leaf and–

Oh my god, there he was. Felix stood at the altar, beside our head mage. He was dressed in a formal coat and tails, flushed face threatening to match the colour of his hair. He held a little bundle of joy tightly, bobbing back and forth as he lulled her to sleep, freezing in the movement when he saw Mum. A look of impossible gratitude passed his face, and he gave little Amy a kiss on the forehead, which remarkably didn't set her off again.

There they were, both of them. The reasons all this was happening. For a moment, I felt sure I was going to faint. I broke out in a cold sweat, impossibly anxious about the whole situation, and my head began to buzz. The only thing which kept me from collapsing on the spot was what I saw next.

Sitting on the pew closest to the doors, there were four people who had tried to kill me. The most religious of religious nuts, staring me down in a cold reality. Our neighbours, the taloned woman and our dear librarian, possessing an air of superiority that worked on me like smelling salts. I tightened my grip on my mother's arm in defiance, not daring to speak out but understanding why they were here. If either of us so much as made a wrong move, they would descend like vultures. Like they had on Dad.

That would be a wrong move, of course, because for that moment I was a tiger. Strong, fierce and proud, barely contained by this nervous little girl. And if they tried to hurt my family – as they had done before – I would strike back. I had finally found my brave heart.

My head was still spinning, but something kept me standing. Maybe my own deity, watching out for its own. But no . . . like Mum had said, belief was the problem here. And, as hard as I tried to shake it, I couldn't get rid of my faith in Dad. No one would take that away.

We walked the scarlet carpet slowly and carefully, taking steady breaths. Mum hadn't noticed the unsavoury quartet by the doors, and her face was full of an eager hope that I willed to remain there forever. I was going to protect her, like Zelda68 would. In the last few steps I became queasy again, my euphoria leaving me, and suddenly I had to hand my mother over to the man she loved.

In a practiced motion I drew her up to face him, and gave him her arm. For one impossible moment it seemed like he wasn't going to accept it, as though he couldn't believe in the truth and would leave us in this purgatory forever. But then, with a trembling left hand, he reached out and clasped her wrist. They smiled, and never stopped.

Completely exhausted by my internal ordeal, I walked clumsily up to the front bench and sat down very carefully. Kilgan was to one side of me, and with great relief I realised that Robert was on my left. A pair of wooden crutches rested on the bench beside him, and he couldn't bear the weight of his armour, but he was here. I didn't know him very well, but he seemed to sense how emptied out I felt, and offered an arm around my shoulders. With his comforting warmth beside me, I felt like giving in to unconsciousness.

The head mage began to rattle off a practiced speech about marriage, and explain the process of handfasting. I knew it all very well, having rehearsed the occasion many times, but it was news to some of our stranger guests. I glanced back at a motley assortment on the pew behind me – a dryad, goblin, hero and guide, all listening with concerned expressions to the task they were expected to perform. Four less friendly pairs of eyes continued to fixate on me from further behind, but I did my best to ignore them. Far off from the others sat a woman with a magenta mane who smelt of flowers, an aroma which I was still trying to work out of my hair, who appeared to be half-asleep. Lucinda hadn't made it.

"And so I present these ribbons," droned on the lanky, robed man in a continuous monotone, "as a symbol of betrothal between these two people, so soon to be joined in holy matrimony. They make physical the bonds of heart and spirit between the beloved, and bring to mind the deep connections which must henceforth be maintained."

Had he written that bit in? Was that a jibe about my father? I studied his face, tilted upwards in a gesture of superiority, and didn't see any resentment. Perhaps I was imagining things.

"Sarita, daughter of the bride," he began, and I did my best to sit up, "you will tie the yellow ribbon, a symbol of happiness."

Yellow was my favourite colour. I stood up on shaking legs and climbed the mountain yet again, taking hold of a vein of sunshine from a delicate pillow held aloft by the mage. A sense of lightness pervaded my movements, making everything seem surreal as I tied the ribbon around their two hands in a careful bow. I couldn't help but exhale as I sat down, my part over, my heart beating again.

The process repeated itself once for every guest, and I found myself wondering why each person had been chosen for a specific ribbon. Robert, aided by his crutches, had tied the blue ribbon for loyalty. Kilgan had retrieved the cream ribbon which represented acceptance, making a show of tying a hard double knot, and giving Felix some unnecessary raised eyebrows. The Guide had received a jab in the side when he was called up to manage the pink ribbon, symbolising love. Leaf had been more than happy to take care of the green ribbon, which represented growth, and had somehow managed to do it with one hand. The bespectacled goblin had stood on his toes to tie the silver ribbon for harmony, forever glancing at the door behind which his fellows rested (perhaps they'd been asked to keep it down for the day, because of all the weddings). That strange woman who hadn't bothered to change for the wedding used an elaborate bow on her suitably purple ribbon, which was tied for wisdom. The four up the back, of course, weren't asked to take part – neither were the bridesmaids, which I felt was a bit stranger. Last but not least, the Hero of Terraria stood up to tie the orange ribbon, which meant vitality and endurance. Her shoes made a strange scratching sound as she walked, and I realised with confusion that she had been resting her feet in a tray of sand. Zelda68 tied the ribbon in a handy fisherman's knot, and wished the bride and groom good luck. Sending me a secret wink before she sat down, I could see the Guide giving her a double thumbs-up.

My heart froze once again when I realised what was about to take place – the wedding vows. For a moment Felix seemed uncertain whether he was supposed to precede my mother, and everyone gave well-meaning laughs. Then he cleared his throat, stared into her eyes, and started to speak.

"'I promise to love and care for you, to be loyal, trustworthy and forgiving,

"'I will try in every way to be worthy of your love.

"'I promise to try to be on time, and get Amy to sleep at night,

"'But most of all, I promise to be your friend, always.

"'I love you.'"

My mother laughed with nerves, looked right into his eyes, and said her piece.

"'I promise to love and care for you, to be loyal, trustworthy and forgiving,

"'I will try in every way to be worthy of your love.

"'I promise to have a sense of humour, and appreciate yours,

"'But most of all, I promise to be your friend, always.

"'I love you.'"

For some reason, I was crying. So were a few of the others, despite the laughs they'd given at the modified lines. Even the Tinkerer suddenly complained of misty glasses, and our dear hero was rubbing her eyes clear.

"Do you," asked the mage, making my world begin to spin again, "Felix, take this woman to be your wife?"

"I do," he agreed through a raw throat, almost too quickly.

"And do you, Christina, take this man to be your husband?"

"I do," she agreed, tears dimming the stars in her eyes.

"Then, by the powers invested in me by our mayor, I pronounce you man and wife."

They embraced, and my world was blurred by uncontrollable tears. I felt so many emotions at once – joy, resentment, panic – but they were all outweighed by the happiness I shared with my mother. People began rushing forwards to congratulate them, a flood of goodwill and euphoria, and I found myself being handed Amethyst as one of the bridesmaids joined in the fray. Staring into the sleeping face, I felt glad to have her close.

"They're married, Amy," I told her disbelievingly, my face close to hers. "Your parents are married."

My mother pushed her way through the crowd to join me, wrapping both her daughters in a very significant hug. There was no need for a brave face anymore, but I kept my brave heart a secret.

I made a promise myself. To never, never let any harm to come to my family. Not again, not while I still breathed, and my brave heart kept beating.

**X X X**

**I hope everyone enjoyed the wedding! The last one I went to, my auntie's, involved handfasting – the celebrant said that in olden days husband and wife would be bound for several days "to teach them the value of cooperation and respect". I think it might be a Scottish tradition, but can't find much information there. I got to tie the tartan ribbon, symbolising heritage.**


	42. Eternal Pacts

I didn't remember what I was dreaming about, except that the girl was there. Not as she'd been when she taunted and played with me – like in the tunnels, looking scared. As hard as I tried, I couldn't call to mind what she'd been telling me, just the vague impression that it was important. Then she'd been swallowed up by the darkness, leaving me alone somewhere I'd never been.

"Hello?" I'd called out in fear, moving my real lips. That was enough for me to realise that I'd been sleeping, and left me with a disconcerting feeling that maybe it hadn't just been a dream.

I'd managed to fall asleep in an awkward position, and both my shoulders felt sore in a way which aggravated old wounds. Unable to sleep on my side and understanding that any other way was a no-no, I sat up in bed and started making my way into the bathroom, after two false starts.

As I splashed my face with cold water in an effort to wake up, I realised that I was still dressed in my wedding clothes, the nice skirt now creased beyond repair and blouse stained with dinner. It had been an awkward affair between just us who lived in the mayor's house, together with a secretary I'd only seen once before. Her name was Lucinda, and I hadn't quite plucked up the courage to talk to her, understanding she'd probably been working with the mayor day and night. And when I looked at the man himself, something was wrong – there was no air about him, none at all. Not the false dignity he displayed when we first met, nor the relaxed and casual man which knew me so well, but a new side of his character. There was no smile to bring out his laugh-lines, no stars in those bespectacled eyes. He just looked old. Old and tired.

It felt strange forcing an apple into the hands of the Guide – wasn't it supposed to be him that did that? – but he'd needed it. After the wedding, even his hair looked deflated. I could hear him working away, pencil tearing through paper, as mine had what could only be a few nights beforehand. I couldn't get back to sleep, and he was awake . . .

Well, it might be entertaining.

I made some conscious effort to straighten out my bed hair as I wandered down the hallway, still a little shocked by the whole biome dye thing. It had been great fun to wander into the corruption and end up with purple streaks, but trying to make the hair match a yellow wedding had almost made us late. It was slightly pointless, anyway – when I sat with my feet in the sand my hair was yellow, but standing up to tie the ribbon had brought it back to green again. All the same, it was good fun, and I intended to keep at least some of it around. Perhaps I could cut off a lock and hang it from my belt – that would be handy.

It was probably around midnight, the wedding reception long since over. It had been the mayor's suggestion that we didn't go, given that half the village would be there for six newlyweds, but I felt like I was letting my friends down somehow. I honestly respected Christina, even though I was a long way away from understanding her, and hoped that she would get over her daughter not believing in what she did. After all, it might kind of be my fault – I had encouraged Sarita an awful lot.

Without thinking, I knocked on the Guide's door in the way we always had: one knock, ten seconds, then two more. I heard some raised voice from within, and took it as permission to enter, sitting myself down on a neatly-made bed and observing my little idiot. He was still in that nice white shirt and dark pair of pants, but the suit-jacket was placed neatly on the back of his chair. The bowtie hung loosely around his neck, and I reached out to pull it off, interrupting his chain of thought.

"Watcha doin'?" I asked, dangling the material around my own neck.

"Codes," he murmured, sounding tired as hell. I noticed that the apple I'd given him had been eaten all the way to the core, resting thoughtlessly on the edge of his desk. Rambling on seemed to help him think, so I didn't interrupt, trying to figure out the bowtie. "It's not just one, it's a bunch. I think it's the five-letter alphabetical thing, and then a bunch of other layers. I really don't get why it's necessary, it's like having ten locks on a door."

"Keeps zombies out," I pointed out.

"Zombies can't work through one lock, and they wouldn't be reading a book."

"They wouldn't _have_ to work through a lock," I growled, an old argument reawakening, "if you opened the door for them."

"Oh god, not this again . . ." He put his face in his hands.

"Guide, you don't open doors at night! Who the hell does that?!"

"How was I supposed to know there were zombies out?" he exploded back, standing up at his desk.

"It was _night_, in _Terraria_, you bloody idiot! For god's sake, you're the frickin' _Guide_!"

"Yes! Right! I'm glad you worked that out! But can I please continue on with this?"

"If," I compromised, a finger raised, "you never go out at night again ever." He blinked, and then frowned.

"That's not gonna work," he argued, shaking his head.

"If you don't agree, I'll eat this bowtie."

"Don't do that. That'll kill you."

"I'll do it."

"Fine, see if I care . . . No, wait. Don't _actually_ do it!"

He vaulted the space between us, and pulled the bowtie out of my mouth, but my teeth clenched onto the last little bit. I didn't really have any idea why I was doing it, but it was too late to turn back now, and the look on his face as he clenched a soggy bit of bowtie and pulled was just too good to pass up. I unclenched my jaw with no warning, and he went flying backwards, hitting his head against the wall with a solid _thunk_. I rolled about on the bed, laughing hysterically, as he chucked the saliva-covered bowtie back at me and set back to work.

Soon I was sitting up again, trying to figure out the bowtie. How had he been wearing it? It seemed impossible. I crossed the fabric over, fiddled it around, tied knot after knot, but all to no avail. Apparently having noticed my constant clucking and exclamations of annoyance, the Guide turned around and made a disgusted noise.

"Don't do that, it's been in your mouth!" mother hen cried, trying to pull the thing away from me, but I fought back. Giving up, he started to tie the bowtie with dainty fingers, his face twisted into an expression of disgust.

"Thanks!" I told him with a sweet smile, ignoring the saliva and the fact that it was my fault, watching with amusement as he threw his hands into the air and set back to work.

He shouldn't have done that. It left me with nothing to do.

Just as it dawned on me that I should probably mention my dream, I gave a big yawn. The Guide responded in kind. I waited for a minute, planning carefully, staring right into the back of his head, before yawning again – he did the same. I repeated the process every minute for at least half an hour, revelling in the control I possessed over the Guide. I was the Puppeteer in this scenario, and he was my marionette. Pulled on invisible strings which made themselves clear in yawning. Maybe this was the power the demon felt. I was too tired to get all moral about it.

After what he thought was half an hour of silence, the Guide started mumbling to himself as if I wasn't there. It was a garble, making sense only to him, but I interrupted it every now and then with a yawn. "Well, 'a' is definitely possible, but it has to be that or 'I' unless I've been doing everything completely wrong . . ." He continued on for ages and ages until, desperate for conversation, I made myself known again.

"Do you think I should keep this hair?" I asked him, lying down on the bed, pulling strands in front of my face.

"Maybe," he answered non-comitally, going back to work.

"She said that she could make it simpler."

"Mm-hmm."

"Or I could just cut off a bit and–"

"Yeah, good. I'm working."

"What do you think about green, though? I like the biome th–"

"Look," he snapped, finally out of patience, "not everything is about your hair, okay?"

We both froze – me savouring the moment, him regretting his rash words.

"I am gonna hold that against you for the rest of your life," I stated slowly and clearly.

"Yeah, maybe you should," he admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Until I die." He looked back to the papers and blinked four times – a sure sign he'd realised something. "Until you die," he exhaled, wide-eyed. "So 'w' becomes 'u', 'l' becomes 'n' . . . I got it! Oh, thank Christ!"

He began to translate the chapters as I cheered him on, watching with uncomprehending eyes. It was something to do with the alphabet, I got that, but I was never any good with letters anyway. At one point I watched concern seep over his features, and wondered what was wrong. Probably something big, as ever.

"Okay," he concluded, putting his pencil down and pulling up a chair for me. "Here we go. Turns out that there were three codes–"

"Don't explain. Just guide."

"Well, alright. There isn't an amazing amount of information here, but I'll tell you what I've got. First off, like you'd guess from the picture, she's called the Puppeteer because she can control people."

"She?" I asked, eyebrows rising.

"Actually, I don't know. There's nothing specific about your girl, if that's what you're thinking about, so we still don't know how involved she is. What we do know is that she can't manage just anyone – with most people it's just the increases in doubt we heard about last time, but 'those who possess a stout yet tainted heart' can see her right in front of them."

"That's me?" I asked, confused. "Is that a good thing? Did I just get insulted by a book?"

"No," he insisted protectively (more of the book than me). "It just means that you're brave but you've been through a lot, as far as I can tell. Really, that last bit could mean anything. Also, she has a flair for unnatural surgeries, which explains your three-legged double-chested mutant man. He's what they call a puppet – someone, or maybe more than one someone, who was under her control and eventually whisked away. You're probably too stubborn for that, so don't worry, but those puppet guys are really tough, because she's poured all sorts of nasty magic into them. Don't start any fights."

"Wasn't planning to," I mumbled, but he didn't seem to hear.

"Apparently this demon can take all sorts of forms, and create new ones using bits and pieces of her puppets. There's something odd here about 'blank minds' which seems to say that she empties someone out before taking them over, so I'd say your girl in the tunnels was playing some kind of mind game. Speaking of which, she's very fond of them; there's a lot of talk in here about playing games with her victims, trying to find their individual breaking points. That's why she's often depicted as a little girl – there's a sense of childishness about the whole thing which frankly seems very disturbing."

"Do we know if that's actually a form she takes, or something the writer made up?" I asked, no longer feeling certain about the information we were getting. The Guide threw his hands up hopelessly and pressed on.

"But yeah, in all this stuff about different forms and puppets there are a lot of references to masks, but I'm not quite sure what that means. There's something about seeing through her guise, which might be a reference to some kind of true form, like with the Eye of Cthulhu." I was slightly taken aback by his mention of the beast, but tried not to show it. For a moment the Guide stalled, and ran a hand across his forehead, suddenly in my world again. "This next bit . . . I'm really sorry."

"Why?" I asked, feeling unnerved.

"She, er . . . it, um, it might not have been a good idea to shoot her. She . . . she's going to come back. In a big way." He didn't continue, so I stole the sheet he was reading from away, very worried. I was glad to see that the last few paragraphs seemed to have been written by someone of a tactical mind, rather than the usual confusing, impressionistic scrawl.

"She takes revenge on those who have wronged her," I read aloud, glancing up at the Guide, "or on those who she attempted to wrong. Fixating upon only one person, although her wounds may heal in due time, her gaze never ceases. Often . . ." I gulped, "_discrediting_ her victim, she works slowly, worrying them beyond reproach until she delivers a final blow, ever more severe than that which she received. There has been some record of this beast driving her opponents insane with a form of countdown." I thought for a moment – had the mysterious 'five' been the beginning of that? I handed the paper back over to the Guide, taking a moment to think.

Five years? Five months? Five weeks? If it were days, I'd already be starting two. Had I seen a four anywhere, had she been trying to play with me? This probably also meant that she was responsible for those magic zombies popping out of the shadows, and had influenced people's reaction to the mayor.

"I didn't know," he said, and I looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I–I wouldn't have shot her, if I knew it would make this happen."

"It's fine," I told him honestly, waving a hand dismissively. "You were just trying to lend me a hand." I took a moment to calm my racing mind, and then gestured for the Guide to continue reading.

"You might like this bit," he said, managing a weak smile. "Tactical advice."

I grinned, sitting upright in my chair. "That's my kinda thing."

"Well, apparently the bullets only worked because she hadn't noticed me. She'd put all her power, even her defences, into hurting you – that gave us a window. There's no definite amount of time for how long she sits on the sidelines, but I'd be willing to guess it's five something-or-other. When she comes back it's in a big way, more and more powerful depending on the injury she's sustained, like the opposite of how you and me would get weaker. She spends time healing herself and building up, and then gets unleashed. Sometimes she'll send a puppet, sometimes reveal herself to other people, or maybe she'll melt out of the shadows just and tear your heart out."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"I know, but here's the good bit. If you hurt her very badly, she'll only be able to come to you in dreams, and that's when she starts the countdown." He stretched, taking a few deep breaths and a yawn which set me off. "Because I actually managed to shoot her, it should be quite a while before she pops up again."

"But there'll be some pretty nasty revenge when she does?"

"Exactly – and I hope you don't mind me saying, but we should be out of the village when that happens. There's going to be a very big bang when she comes back."

I nodded in agreement, and then snapped to attention. "Wait, who's 'we'?"

"You and me," he answered simply, apparently surprised I hadn't thought of that.

"What? No no no, this is my fight! I can't be putting you in danger, she's only thinking about hurting me!"

"But I'm the reason all this is happening," he pointed out, sitting up straighter. "I shot her, and now she's after you. I'm coming with." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in that infuriating way, and I had to try very hard not to choke him to death with a bowtie.

"We don't know enough about her to say that this is your fault, and she started on me long before you got involved. I have to take her on." The Guide opened his mouth to argue, and I raised my voice. "Guide, you haven't seen what she does. The puppets? I mean bloody hell, they're as freaky as it gets! You're not a fighter, even if you wanna be a hero. She could snuff you out like _that_." I clicked my fingers to demonstrate, and he blinked. For once, it was me seeing common sense. He looked into my eyes, searching for a weak point in my argument, but I was a brick wall.

"Well, we'll see," he mumbled resentfully, gathering his papers and closing the book. "If you don't mind, I think I'll get some sleep."

I didn't plan on arguing that point. Sweeping the apple core off his desk and into a bin, I left the small room with a head full of new information and made my way to the mayor's office. There were raised voices coming from inside, but that was nothing new – probably just him and his secretary wondering how to get his status back. I paused with my hand on the doorknob, realising something. There were more than two people talking, and none of them sounded particularly feminine.

The mayor seemed to be in the middle of a rather violent argument with two other people – one with a clear voice that contained traces of a familiar accent, and the other with an unmistakable squeal. The Speaker of the goblins, and our dear Tinkerer. I put my ear to the door, listening in before I made an entrance.

"You're the ambassador," argued the mayor, no doubt glaring the Tinkerer down. "Can't you do something about this?" A panicked, high-pitched noise answered him.

"Please stop talking as if I'm not in the room!" demanded the Speaker defensively. "This is a very real problem, and I need you to take care of it!"

"I haven't got the time," the mayor argued simply, sounding somewhat pained. "My people are losing faith in me for the first time – that is _my_ crisis. I honestly don't have the time to understand yours properly, and it seems like something that you could take care of without my help."

"You don't know that!" the Speaker cried, and I could hear his chair squeaking backwards as he stood up. "I am grateful for all the help you've given us, but this is something bad. If it continues, my people will riot, and may even attack the humans."

"Well, that's obviously something for the humans to deal with, because apparently I'm not in charge anymore. You should speak to one of the swordsmen. I'm busy." Wow. I'd never heard him so cold.

There was a moment's silence, and I could hear a disapproving noise from the goblin chief. "No wonder your people lose faith," he muttered. "Why would they ever have it in an old man who won't recognise danger when it stares him in the face?"

"Don't ever underestimate what I know," the mayor shouted, losing his temper for one of the first times since I'd met him.

"Why not?" the Speaker sneered.

"Because, my friend, I know an awful lot." I could hear footsteps heading my way. "For example, there was another goblin in line to be Speaker. Whatever happened to him?" The goblin froze in his tracks, turning to face the old man with breath caught in his chest. Now that the mayor had his attention again, he tried to explain himself. "My losing power could lead to a battle that decimates half the village, half of my people. Once that's been taken care of I'll pay attention to your beliefs, but for now I have work to do, and there is a hero on standby. I suggest you wake her."

The Speaker moved to open the door, and I pulled it towards me.

"Hi," I said, smiling at the bewildered goblin. "Sorry for eavesdropping, but I gather something's up with the goblins?"

He blinked in surprise, gave me a slap on the shoulder, and started walking to the church.

**X X X **

"Are you sure this is necessary?" I asked, peering around in the darkness.

"There was a chance some of the others might listen in," the Speaker explained, a faint glow coming from his yellow eyes. "None of them know this part of the tunnels, they wouldn't come here in case of monsters."

"Exactly my point," I whispered, unable to hide my nervousness. He laughed in that boisterous way, and added to the bruise which was forming on my shoulder. Perhaps it was a goblin custom. "So, what's the matter?" I asked, genuinely curious.

He reached onto his belt, and unbuckled one of many trinkets – a bottle, glowing from the inside. Looking at the golden flame I remembered that it had played an important part in their funeral ceremony, and the way he'd somehow managed to scoop it inside the glass.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding it with great care.

"Erm," I murmured, trying desperately to remember what he'd called it. "The . . . the everlasting–"

"Eternal flame," he corrected.

"Yeah, that." He snorted at my confusion and squatted on the stone floor, inviting me to join him, and placed the bottle between us delicately.

"This is the most important symbol in our culture," he explained, speaking slowly and quietly. "For as long as our memories reach, it has never gone out. We use it to invite the dead to the Way After, and then it passes safely between leaders, down the generations over hundreds of years. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, of course," I whispered, a little offended. "What's the matter with it?"

He glanced around, as if making sure we weren't being listened to, and then picked up the bottle carefully. "Well," he said, taking a moment to find the right words, "for the last few days, it's been dying. At first I thought it was just a trick of the light, but I was wrong. It's almost halved in size in three days – at this rate, it'll be gone soon. That can't happen."

"You have mages, don't you?" I asked, confused. "Couldn't they do something about it?"

"I can't tell them," he explained, sounding urgent. "It would cause panic – and while we're living right under the village, that's the last thing either of us needs. If we were in better circumstances then I'd ask some of the others for help, but none of them can know. Not even the outcast."

"The Tinkerer?" I asked. "But he's not involved with you anymore, and he's good at working stuff out."

"I will never rely on that runt!" he snorted, offended at the idea. "He broke the first rule of our race!"

"Rule?" I asked, confused. "He never mentioned any rule-breaking. I thought you kicked him out because he was so obsessed with humans."

"He didn't tell you?" the Speaker asked, a rue grin splitting his green face. "No, I'm not surprised." I opened my mouth to argue, but he stood up, shrouding the small flame before buckling it onto his belt again. "We might need a mage," he admitted. "One of yours, someone who'd be willing. We don't have any kind of money."

"Abigail!" I decided immediately. "She came with me last time."

". . . She'll do," he admitted resentfully, sounding a bit uncertain. "But we need to act fast. Sware to me, on something important, that you won't breathe a word of what happened here."

"On my honour," I swore, picking up the fact that it was important to him. His face twisted in concentration, trying to make a decision without offending me.

"I don't know you well enough for that."

"Cheers, mate."

"Sware on your life," he insisted, one hand eerily close to a dagger.

I blinked, surprised. "No offence, but I'd rather do the honour thing." He looked right into my eyes, hand now resting on the hilt, ready to whip out if I disagreed. "Okay. Alright. I swear on my life."

He nodded. Having made a strange pact with the goblin leader, I made my way back into their main cavern, and took a look at the work they'd been doing since the battle. Alcoves had been carved out of the walls to make simple bedrooms, and candles had been given resting places in the walls, providing almost constant light. I could recognise the Speaker's room by the tattered cloth which hung above its entrance, probably something to do with their beliefs. One happy-go-lucky peon had even opened a small shop, which offered low prices on currently non-existent tradable goods. Adaptable, they certainly were.

"One thing," I told him, turning around. "This might sound a little strange, and it's nothing to worry about, but . . . Have any of your men seen a little girl in the tunnels? We think someone might have gone missing."

"No," he answered simply, turning away. "I hope you find her," he called back, making his way towards his alcove.

"Thanks," I replied, feeling bad for lying.

I entered the church just as the sun started to rise, hoping that no one would spot me wearing yesterday's clothes. Now, to find Abigail . . . where did she even live?

**X X X**

**Merry Christmas, everyone! Less than two hours to go for me, so I thought I'd explain something. The reason I've been really churning out chapters is because I wanted to get a Christmas special out, but there's no way I'll get the story to that point in time.**

** So sorry, but it looks like these guys will celebrate just a little while after us – it's Terraria, so they can get away with it, right?**

** Thanks to anyone who took the time to read, and I wish you all happy and safe holidays!**

8


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